LStr   P-  31 

"HE    WAS    A    NOTICEABLY    HANDSOME     FIGURE    AS    HE    SAT 
ALONE    IN    THE    BOX " 


1 


THE 

LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 


Bevel 


BY 

HAMLIN    GARLAND 

AUTHOR  OF  "HESPER" 

THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  GRAY-HORSE  TROOP  ' 
ETC.  ETC 


NEW     YORK     AND 
HARPER     6-     BR 

PUBLISHERS          :: 


LONDON 
OTHERS 

MCM  I  V 


Copyright,  1904,  by  HAMLIN  GARLAND. 

All  rights  reserved. 
Published  May,  1904. 


THE    LIGHT   OF   THE   STAR 


THE    LIGHT   OF   THE   STAR 


FTER  the  appointment  with 
Miss  Merival  reached  him 
(through  the  hand  of  her  man 
ager),  young  Douglass  grew 
feverishly  impatient  of  the  long 
days  which  lay  between.  Waiting  became  a 
species  of  heroism.  Each  morning  he  reread 
his  manuscript  and  each  evening  found  him 
at  the  theatre,  partly  to  while  away  the  time, 
but  mainly  in  order  that  he  might  catch  some 
clew  to  the  real  woman  behind  the  shining 
mask.  His  brain  was  filled  with  the  light 
of  the  star — her  radiance  dazzled  him. 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

By  day  he  walked  the  streets,  seeing  her 
name  on  every  bill-board,  catching  the  glow 
of  her  subtle  and  changeful  beauty  in  every 
window.  She  gazed  out  at  him  from  brows 
weary  with  splendid  barbaric  jewels,  her  eyes 
bitter  and  disdainful,  and  hopelessly  sad. 
She  smiled  at  him  in  framework  of  blue  and 
ermine  and  pearls — the  bedecked,  heartless 
coquette  of  the  pleasure-seeking  world.  She 
stood  in  the  shadow  of  gray  walls,  a  grating 
over  her  head,  with  deep,  soulful,  girlish  eyes 
lifted  in  piteous  appeal;  and  in  each  of  these 
characters  an  unfathomed  depth  remained 
to  vex  and  to  allure  him. 

Magnified  by  these  reflections  on  the  walls, 
haloed  by  the  teeming  praise  and  censure  of 
the  press,  she  seemed  to  dominate  the  entire 
city  as  she  had  come  to  absorb  the  best  of  his 
own  life.  What  her  private  character  really 
was  no  one  seemed  to  know,  in  spite  of  the 
special  articles  and  interviews  with  her  man 
agers  which  fed  the  almost  universal  adulation 
of  her  dark  and  changeful  face,  her  savage 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

and  sovereign  beauty.  There  was  insolence  in 
her  tread,  and  mad  allurement  in  the  rounded 
beauty  of  her  powerful  white  arm — and  at  his 
weakest  the  young  playwright  admitted  that 
all  else  concerning  her  was  of  no  account. 

At  the  same  time  he  insisted  that  he  was 
not  involved  with  the  woman  —  only  with 
the  actress.  "  I  am  not  a  lover — I  am  a  play 
wright,  eager  to  have  my  heroine  adequately 
portrayed,"  he  contended  with  himself  in  the 
solitude  of  his  room,  high  in  one  of  the  great 
apartment  buildings  of  the  middle  city.  Nev 
ertheless,  the  tremor  in  his  nerves  caused  him 
thought. 

Her  voice.  Yes,  that,  too,  was  mysterious. 
Whence  came  that  undertone  like  the  moan 
of  a  weary  wastrel  tortured  with  dreams  of 
idyllic  innocence  long  lost?  Why  did  her  ut 
terance,  like  her  glorious  face,  always  suggest 
some  inner,  darker  meaning?  There  were 
times  when  she  seemed  old — old  as  vice  and 
cruelty,  hoarse  with  complaints,  with  curses, 
and  then  again  her  lips  were  childishly  sweet, 

3 


THE   LIGHT   OF  THE   STAR 

and  her  voice  carried  only  the  wistful  accents 
of  adolescence  or  the  melody  of  girlish  awe. 

On  the  night  before  his  appointment  she 
played  The  Baroness  Telka,  a  lurid,  lustful, 
remorseless  woman — a  creature  with  a  vam 
pire's  heart  and  the  glamour  of  Helen  of  Troy 
— a  woman  whose  cheeks  were  still  round  and 
smooth,  but  whose  eyes  were  alight  with  the 
flame  of  insanity — a  frightful,  hungry,  soul 
less  wretch.  And  as  he  sat  at  the  play  and 
watched  that  glittering,  inexplicable  woman, 
and  thought  of  her  roles,  Douglass  asked  him 
self  :  ' '  How  will  she  meet  me  to-morrow  ?  What 
will  be  the  light  in  her  eyes  when  she  turns 
them  upon  me?  Will  she  meet  me  alone — 
haughty,  weary  with  praise,  or  will  she  be 
surrounded  by  those  who  bow  to  her  as  to  a 
queen?"  This  latter  thing  he  feared. 

He  had  not  been  without  experience  with 
women — even  with  actresses;  but  no  woman 
he  had  ever  met  had  appealed  to  his  imagina 
tion  beyond  the  first  meeting.  Would  it  be 
so  with  Helen  Merival  ?  He  had  loved  twice 

4 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

in  his  life,  but  not  well  enough  to  say  so  to 
either  of  his  sweethearts.  Around  Myra's 
name  clung  the  perfume  and  moonlight  of 
summer  evenings  in  the  far-off  mid-continent 
village  where  he*  was  born,  while  Violet  re 
called  the  music,  the  comfort,  and  the  security 
of  a  beautiful  Eastern  home.  Neither  of  these 
sweet  and  lovely  girls  had  won  his  heart  com 
pletely.  How  was  it  that  this  woman  of  the 
blazoning  bill -boards  had  already  put  more 
of  passion  into  his  heart  than  they  of  the 
pure  and  sheltered  life? 

He  did  not  deceive  himself.  It  was  because 
Helen  could  not  be  understood  at  a  glance. 
She  appealed  to  his  imagination  as  some 
strange  bird — alien  voyager — fled  from  dis 
tant  islands  in  dim,  purple  seas.  She  typed 
the  dreams  of  adventuring  youth  seeking  the 
princesses  of  other  and  more  romantic  lands. 

At  times  he  shuddered  with  a  fear  that 
some  hidden  decay  of  Helen  Merival's  own 
soul  enabled  her  to  so  horrify  her  audience 
with  these  desolating  roles,  and  when  the  cur- 

5 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

tain  fell  on  The  Baroness,  he  was  resolved  to 
put  aside  the  chance  of  meeting  the  actress. 
Was  it  worth  while  to  be  made  ashamed  and 
bitter?  She  might  stand  revealed  as  a  coarse 
and  selfish  courtesan — a  worn  and  haggard 
enchantress  whose  failing  life  blazed  back  to 
youth  only  when  on  the  stage.  Why  be  dis 
enchanted?  But  in  the  end  he  rose  above 
this  boyish  doubt.  "What  does  it  matter 
whether  she  be  true  or  false?  She  has  genius, 
and  genius  I  need  for  my  play — genius  and 
power,"  and  in  the  delusion  he  rested. 

He  climbed  to  his  den  in  the  tower  as  phys 
ically  wearied  as  one  exhausted  with  running 
a  race,  and  fell  asleep  with  his  eyelids  flutter 
ing  in  a  feverish  dream. 

The  hour  of  his  appointment  with  her  fell 
upon  Sunday,  and  as  he  walked  up  the  street 
towards  her  hotel  the  bells  in  a  church  on  a 
side  street  were  ringing,  and  their  chimes  filled 
his  mind  with  memories  of  the  small  town  from 
which  he  came.  How  peaceful  and  sweet  the 
life  of  Woodstock  seemed  now.  The  little 

6 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

meeting-house,  whose  shingled  spire  still  point 
ed  at  the  stars,  would  always  be  sweet  with  the 
memory  of  Myra  Thurber,  whose  timid  clasp 
upon  his  arm  troubled  him  then  and  pained 
him  now.  He  had  so  little  to  give  in  return  for 
her  devotion — therefore  he  had  given  nothing. 
He  had  said  good-bye  almost  harshly  —  his 
ambition  hardening  his  heart  to  her  appeal. 

Around  him,  in  his  dream  of  those  far-off 
days,  moved  other  agile  forms — young  lovers 
like  Myra  and  himself,  their  feet  creaking  on 
the  glittering  snow.  They  stepped  slowly, 
though  the  bells  called  and  called.  The 
moonlight  was  not  more  clear  and  untouched 
of  baleful  fire  than  Myra's  sweet  eyes  looking 
up  at  him,  and  now  he  was  walking  the  wet 
pavement  of  the  great  metropolis,  with  the 
clang  and  grind  of  cars  all  about  him,  on  his 
way  to  meet  a  woman  whose  life  was  spent  in 
simulating  acts  as  destructive  as  Myra's  had 
been  serene  and  trustful.  At  the  moment  he 
saw  his  own  life  as  a  thread  in  some  mysteri 
ous  drama. 

7 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

"To  what  does  it  lead?"  he  asked,  as  he 
drew  under  the  overhanging  portal  of  the 
great  hotel  where  the  star  made  her  home. 
It  was  to  the  man  of  the  West  a  splendid  place. 
Its  builders  had  been  lavish  of  highly  colored 
marbles  and  mosaics,  spendthrift  of  light  and 
gilding;  on  every  side  shone  the  signs  and 
seals  of  predatory  wealth.  Its  walls  were  like 
costly  confectionery,  its  ornaments  insolent, 
its  waste  criminal.  Every  decorative  feature 
was  hot,  restless,  irreverent,  and  cruel,  quite 
the  sort  of  avenue  one  might  expect  to  find 
in  his  walk  towards  the  glittering  woman  of 
the  false  and  ribald  drama. 

"She  chose  her  abode  with  instinctive  bad 
taste,"  he  said,  bitterly;  and  again  his  weak 
ness,  his  folly  turned  him  cold ;  for  with  all  his 
physical  powers  he  was  shy  to  the  point  of  fear. 

He  made  a  sober  and  singular  spot  in  the 
blaze  of  the  rotunda.  So  sombre  was  his  look, 
so  intent  his  gaze.  Youths  in  high  hats  and 
shining  shirt-fronts  stood  in  groups  conversing 
loudly,  and  in  the  resplendent  dining -hall 

8 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

bediamonded  women  and  their  sleek-haired, 
heavy -jewelled  partners  were  eating  leisurely, 
attended  by  swarms  of  waiters  so  eager  they 
trod  upon  one  another's  feet. 

The  clerk  eyed  him  in  impassible  silence  as 
he  took  out  his  worn  card-case,  saying : ' '  Please 
send  my  card  to  Miss  Merival." 

"  Miss  Merival  is  not  receiving  any  one  this 
evening, ' '  the  clerk  answered,  with  a  tone  which 
was  like  the  slap  of  a  wet  glove  in  the  face. 

Douglass  faced  him  with  a  look  which  made 
him  reflect.  "You  will  let  her  be  the  judge 
of  that,"  he  said,  and  his  tone  was  that  of  one 
accustomed  to  be  obeyed. 

The  little  man  bowed.  "  Oh,  certainly,  Mr. 
Douglass,  but  as  she  left  orders — " 

When  the  boy  with  his  card  had  disappeared 
into  the  candy-colored  distances,  the  play 
wright  found  himself  again  studying  the  face 
of  his  incomprehensible  sorceress,  who  looked 
down  upon  him  even  at  that  moment  from  a 
bulletin-board  on  the  hotel  wall,  Oriental,  sav 
age,  and  sullen  —  sad,  too,  as  though  alone 

9 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

in  her  solitary  splendor.  "  She  can't  be  all  of 
her  parts — which  one  of  them  will  I  find  as  I 
enter  her  room?"  he  asked  himself  for  the 
hundredth  time. 

"Miss  Merival  will  see  Mr.  Douglass,"  said 
the  bell-boy.  "This  way,  sir." 

As  he  stepped  into  the  elevator  the  young 
man's  face  grew  stern  and  his  lips  straightened 
out  into  a  grim  line.  It  was  absurd  to  think  he 
should  be  so  deeply  moved  by  any  woman  alive, 
he  who  prided  himself  on  his  self-possession. 

Down  a  long  hall  on  the  tenth  floor  the  boy 
led  him,  and  tapped  at  a  door,  which  was 
opened  after  a  pause  by  a  quiet  woman  who 
greeted  him  with  outstretched  hand,  kindly 
cordial. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Douglass?  It  is  very 
good  of  you  to  come,"  she  said,  with  the  sim 
plest  inflection. 

"This  must  be  an  elder  sister,"  he  thought, 
and  followed  her  into  a  large  sitting-room, 
where  a  gray-haired  woman  and  a  young  man 
were  sipping  after-dinner  coffee. 

10 


THE   LIGHT  OP  THE   STAR 

"Mother,  this  is  Mr.  Douglass,  the  author 
of  The  Modern  Stage,  the  little  book  of  essays 
we  liked  so  well."  The  elderly  lady  greeted 
him  cordially,  but  with  a  timid  air.  "And 
this  is  my  brother  Hugh,"  the  young  man 
gave  Douglass's  hand  a  firm  and  cordial  grip. 

"Sit  down,  please — not  there — over  here, 
where  the  light  will  fall  on  you.  I  want  to 
see  how  you  look,"  she  added,  in  smiling  can 
dor  ;  and  with  that  smile  he  recognized  in  his 
hostess  the  great  actress. 

He  was  fairly  dazed,  and  for  the  moment 
entirely  wordless.  From  the  very  moment  the 
door  had  opened  to  him  the  "glittering  wom 
an"  had  been  receding  into  remote  and  ever 
remoter  distances,  for  the  Helen  Merival  before 
him  was  as  simple,  candid,  and  cordial  as  his 
own  sister.  Her  voice  had  the  home  inflec 
tion  ;  she  displayed  neither  paint  nor  powder ; 
her  hair  was  plainly  brushed — beautiful  hair 
it  was,  too — and  her  dress  was  lovely  and  in 
quiet  taste. 

Her  face  seemed  plain  at  first,  just  as  her 
2  ii 


THE    LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

stature  seemed  small.  She  was  dark,  but  not 
so  dark  as  she  appeared  on  the  stage,  and  her 
face  was  thinner,  a  little  careworn,  it  seemed 
to  him;  and  her  eyes — "those  leering,  wicked 
eyes" — were  large  and  deep  and  soft.  Her 
figure  was  firm,  compact,  womanly,  and  mod 
est  in  every  line.  No  wife  could  have  seemed 
more  of  the  home  than  this  famous  actress 
who  faced  him  with  hands  folded  in  her  lap. 
He  was  stupefied.  Suddenly  he  perceived 
the  injustice  and  the  crass  folly  of  his  esti 
mate  of  her  character,  and  with  this  percep 
tion  came  a  broader  and  deeper  realization  of 
her  greatness  as  an  actress.  Her  real  self 
now  became  more  complex  than  his  wildest 
imagined  ideal  of  her.  That  this  sweet  and 
reflective  girl  should  be  the  actress  was  as 
difficult  to  understand  as  that  The  Baroness 
should  be  at  heart  a  good  woman.  For  five 
minutes  he  hardly  heard  what  she  said,  so 
busy  was  his  mind  readjusting  itself  to  this 
abrupt  displacement  of  values.  With  noise 
less  suddenness  all  the  lurid  light  which  the 

12 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

advertiser  had  thrown  around  the  star  died 
away.  The  faces  which  mocked  and  mourned, 
the  clutching  hands,  the  lines  of  barbaric  or 
naments,  the  golden  goblets  of  debauchery, 
the  jewelled  daggers,  the  poison  phials — all 
those  accessories,  designed  to  produce  the 
siren  of  the  posters,  faded  out,  and  he  found 
himself  face  to  face  with  a  human  being  like 
himself,  a  thoughtful,  self-contained,  and 
rather  serious  American  girl  of  twenty-six  or 
twenty-eight  years  of  age. 

Not  merely  this,  but  her  attitude  towards 
him  was  that  of  a  pupil.  She  lifted  eyes  to 
him  as  to  one  occupying  an  intellectual  height. 
She  began  to  tell  him  how  much  she  enjoyed 
his  little  book  on  the  drama,  which  a  friend 
had  recommended  to  her,  but  as  soon  as  he 
had  fairly  recovered  himself  he  led  her  away 
from  his  own  work.  "  I  am  supposed  to  be 
an  architect,"  he  explained.  "I  write  of  the 
stage  because  I  love  it — and  because  I  am  a 
failure  in  my  profession.  My  book  is  a  very 
slight  and  unambitious  attempt." 

13 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

"  But  you  know  the  stage  and  its  princi 
ples,"  she  insisted ;  "  and  your  view  of  the  fut 
ure  is  an  inspiration  to  those  of  us  who  wish 
to  do  good  work.  Your  letter  was  very  help 
ful  to  me,  for  I  am  deeply  discouraged  just 
now.  I  am  disgusted  with  the  drama  in 
which  I  work.  I  am  weary  of  these  unwhole 
some  parts.  You  are  quite  right,  I  shall  never 
do  my  best  work  so  long  as  I  am  forced  to 
assume  such  uncongenial  roles.  They  are  all 
false,  every  one  of  them.  They  are  good  act 
ing  roles,  as  acting  goes ;  but  I  want  plays  that 
I  can  live  as  well  as  act.  But  my  manager 
tells  me  that  the  public  will  not  have  me  in 
anything  else.  Do  you  think  they  would? 
Is  he  right?"  She  ended  in  appeal. 

"  I  think  the  public  will  take  you  at  your 
best  in  anything  you  do,"  he  replied,  with 
grave  gallantry.  "I  don't  know  that  man 
agers  are  omniscient.  They  are  only  men  like 
the  rest  of  us." 

She  smiled.  "That  is  high  treason;  but 
I'm  very  much  inclined  to  believe  it  is  true. 

14 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

I  am  willing  to  concede  that  a  theatre  must 
be  made  to  pay,  but  I  am  not  content  to  think 
that  this  splendid  art  is  always  to  be  measured 
by  the  number  of  dollars  which  fall  into  the 
box-office.  Take  Westervelt  as  a  type.  What 
ideals  has  he  ?  None  whatever,  save  to  find  a 
play  that  will  run  forever  and  advertise  itself." 

She  had  dreams,  too,  it  seemed.  She 
glowed  with  her  plans,  and  as  she  timidly  pre 
sented  them  Douglass  perceived  that  the 
woman  was  entirely  unconscious  of  the  false 
glamour,  the  whirling  light  and  tumult,  which 
outsiders  connected  with  her  name.  At  the 
centre  of  the  illumination  she  sat  looking  out 
upon  the  glorified  bill-boards,  the  gay  shop 
windows,  the  crowded  auditoriums,  a  whole 
some,  kindly,  intelligent  woman,  subject  to 
moods  of  discouragement  like  himself,  un 
willing  to  be  a  slave  to  a  money-grubber. 
Something  in  his  face  encouraged  the  story 
of  her  struggles.  She  passed  to  her  personal 
history  while  he  listened  as  one  enthralled. 

The  actress  fled,  and  the  woman  drew  near. 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

She  looked  into  the  man's  eyes  frankly,  un 
shrinkingly,  with  humor,  with  appeal.  She 
leaned  towards  him,  and  her  face  grew  ex 
quisitely  tender  and  beautiful.  "Oh,  it  was 
a  struggle!  Mother  kept  boarders  in  order 
that  Hugh  and  I  might  go  to  school — didn't 
you,  dear  old  muz?"  She  laid  her  hand  on 
her  mother's  knee,  and  the  mother  clasped  it. 
"Father's  health  grew  worse  and  worse,  and 
at  last  he  died,  and  then  I  had  to  leave  school 
to  help  earn  our  living.  I  began  to  read  for 
entertainments  of  various  sorts.  Father  was 
a  Grand  Army  man,  and  the  posts  took  an 
interest  in  my  reading.  I  really  earned  a 
thousand  dollars  the  second  year.  I  doubled 
that  the  next  year,  and  considered  myself  a 
great  public  success."  She  smiled.  "Mother, 
may  I  let  Mr.  Douglass  see  how  I  looked  then?" 

The  mother  nodded  consent,  and  the  great 
actress,  after  a  few  moments'  search,  returned 
with  a  package  of  circulars,  each  bearing  a 
piquant,  girlish  face. 

"There,"  she  said,  as  she  handed  them  to 
16 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

Douglass,  "I  felt  the  full  ecstasy  of  power 
when  that  picture  was  taken.  In  this  I  wore 
a  new  gown  and  a  new  hat,  and  I  was  earn 
ing  fifty  dollars  at  each  reading.  My  success 
fairly  bewildered  me;  but  oh,  wasn't  it  glori 
ous!  I  took  mother  out  of  a  tenement  and 
put  her  in  a  lovely  little  home.  I  sent  Hugh 
to  college.  I  refurnished  the  house.  I  bought 
pictures  and  rugs,  for  you  know  I  continued  to 
earn  over  two  thousand  a  year.  And  what 
fun  we  had  in  spending  all  that  money!" 

''But  how  did  you  reach  the  stage?"  he 
asked. 

She  laughed.  "By  way  of  'the  Kerosene 
circuit,'  if  you  know  what  that  means." 

"I've  heard  the  phrase,"  he  answered;  "it 
corresponds  to  the  old-time  '  barn  -  storming, ' 
doesn't  it?" 

"It  does." 

Hugh  interposed.  "  I  wouldn't  go  into  that, 
sis." 

"Why  not?  It's  great  fun — now.  I  used 
to  think  it  pretty  tragic  sometimes.  Yes,  I 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

was  nineteen  when  I  went  on  the  New  Eng 
land  rural  circuit — to  give  it  a  better  name. 
Oh,  I've  been  through  all  the  steps!  As  soon 
as  I  felt  a  little  secure  about  mother,  I  vent 
ured  to  New  York  in  answer  to  advertise 
ments  in  The  Reflector,  and  went  out  'on  the 
road'  at  'fifteen  per."  These  slang  phrases 
seemed  humorous  as  they  came  from  her 
smiling  lips,  but  Douglass  knew  some  little 
part  of  the  toil  and  discomfort  they  stood  for. 
Her  eyes  danced  with  fun.  "I  played  The 
Lady  of  Lyons  in  a  'kitchen  set,'  and  the 
death -scene  in  East  Lynne  before  a  'wood 
drop.'  And  my  costumes  were  something 
marvellous,  weren't  they,  mother?  Well,  this 
lasted  two  seasons  —  summer  seasons;  while 
I  continued  to  read  in  winter  in  order  to  in 
dulge  my  passion  for  the  stage  in  summer 
and  early  autumn.  Then  I  secured  a  small 
part  in  a  real  company,  and  at  a  salary  that 
permitted  me  to  send  some  money  home.  I 
knocked  about  the  country  this  way  two  sea 
sons  more — that  makes  me  twenty-two.  I 
18 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

knew  the  office  of  every  manager  in  New 
York  by  this  time,  but  had  been  able  to  reach 
an  audience  with  but  one  or  two.  They  were 
kind  enough,  but  failed  to  'see  anything'  in 
me,  as  the  phrase  goes;  and  I  was  quite  dis 
heartened.  Oh, '  the  Rialto ' !' '  Her  face  cloud 
ed  and  her  voice  softened.  "It  is  a  brilliant 
and  amusing  place  to  the  successful,  but  to 
the  girl  who  walks  it  seeking  a  theatrical  en 
gagement  it  is  a  heartless  and  cruel  place. 
You  can  see  them  there  to-day — girls  eager 
and  earnest  and  ready  to  work  hard  and  con 
scientiously — haunting  the  agencies  and  the 
anterooms  of  the  managers  just  as  I  did  in 
those  days — only  five  years  ago." 

"It  seems  incredible,"  exclaimed  Douglass. 
"I  thought  you  came  here  from  a  London 
success." 

"  So  I  did,  and  that  is  the  miraculous  chap 
ter  of  my  story.  I  went  to  London  with  Far- 
num — with  only  a  little  part — but  McLennan 
saw  me  and  liked  my  work,  and  asked  me  to 
take  the  American  adventuress  in  his  new 
19 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

play.  And  then — my  fortune  was  made.  The 
play  was  only  a  partial  success,  but  my  own 
position  was  established.  I  continued  to  play 
the  gay  and  evil-minded  French  and  Russian 
woman  of  the  English  stage  till  I  was  tired  of 
them.  Then  I  tried  Joan  of  Arc  and  Charlotte 
Corday.  The  public  forced  me  back  to  The 
Baroness  Telka,  and  to  wealth  and  great  fame ; 
and  then  I  read  your  little  book,  which  seemed 
directed  straight  to  me,  and  I  asked  Hugh  to 
write  you — now  you  have  the  *  story  of  me  life.' 
I  have  had  no  struggle  since — only  hard  work 
and  great  acclaim."  She  faced  her  mother 
with  a  proud  smile.  Then  her  face  darkened. 
"But — there  is  always  a  but — I  want  New 
York  to  know  me  in  some  better  way.  I'm 
tired  of  these  women  with  cigarettes  and 
spangled  dinner-gowns." 

She  laid  her  hand  again  on  her  mother's 
knee,  and  the  gentle  old  ringers  closed  around 
the  firm,  smooth  wrist. 

"I've  told  mother  that  I  will  cut  these  roles 
out.  We  are  at  last  in  a  position  to  do  as  we 

20 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

please.  I  am  now  waiting  for  something 
worth  while  to  come  to  me.  That  is  my  pres 
ent  situation,  Mr.  Douglass.  I  don't  know 
why  I've  been  so  frank.  Now  let  me  hear 
your  play." 

He  flushed  a  little.  "To  tell  the  truth,  I 
find  it  rather  hard  to  begin.  I  feel  as  though 
I  were  re-enacting  a  worn-out  scene  in  some 
way.  Every  other  man  in  the  car  writes  plays 
nowadays  and  torments  his  friends  by  reading 
to  them,  which,  I  admit,  is  an  abominable  prac 
tice.  However,  as  I  came  here  for  that  express 
purpose,  I  will  at  least  outline  my  scenario/' 

"  Didn't  you  bring  the  play  itself?" 

"Yes;  but,  really,  I  hesitate.  It  may  bore 
you  to  death." 

"You  could  not  write  a  play  that  would 
bore  me — I  am  sure  of  that." 

"Very  well,"  he  soberly  answered,  and  drew 
forth  his  manuscript.  As  if  upon  signal,  the 
mother  and  her  son  rose  to  withdraw.  "You 
are  entirely  justified,"  said  Douglass,  with  some 
humor.  "  I  quite  understand  your  feelings." 

21 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

"We  should  like  very  much  to  hear  it, 
but—" 

"  No  excuses,  I  beg  of  you.  I  wonder  at 
Miss  Merival's  hardihood.  I  am  quite  sure 
she  will  live  to  repent  her  temerity." 

In  this  spirit  of  banter  the  playwright  and 
the  star  were  left  alone  with  the  manuscript 
of  the  play.  As  he  read  on,  Douglass  was 
carried  out  of  his  own  impassivity  by  the 
changes  in  the  face  before  him.  It  became 
once  more  elusive,  duskily  mysterious  in  its 
lines.  A  reflective  shadow  darkened  the 
glorious  eyes,  veiled  by  drooping  lids.  With 
out  knowing  it,  the  actress  took  on  from  mo 
ment  to  moment  the  heart- trials  of  the  woman 
of  the  play.  In  a  subconscious  way  even 
as  he  read,  Douglass  analyzed  and  under 
stood  her  power.  Hers  was  a  soul  of  swift 
and  subtle  sympathy.  A  word,  a  mere  inflec 
tion,  was  sufficient  to  set  in  motion  the  most 
complicate  and  obscure  conceptions  in  her 
brain,  permitting  her  to  comprehend  with 
equal  clarity  the  Egyptian  queen  of  pleasure 

22 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

and  the  austere  devotee  to  whom  joy  is  a 
snare.  From  time  to  time  she  uttered  little 
exclamations  of  pleasure,  and  at  the  end  of 
each  act  motioned  him  to  proceed,  as  if  eager 
to  get  a  unified  impression. 

It  was  after  eleven  o'clock  when  he  threw 
down  the  manuscript,  and,  white  with  emo 
tion,  awaited  her  verdict.  She  was  tense  with 
the  strain,  and  her  lashes  were  wet  with  tears, 
but  her  eyes  were  bright  and  her  mind  alert. 
She  had  already  entered  upon  a  new  part, 
having  been  swept  up  into  a  region  of  resolu 
tion  as  far  away  from  the  pleasant  hostess 
as  from  the  heartless  adventuress  whose  gar 
ments  she  had  worn  but  the  night  before. 
With  hands  clasped  between  her  knees,  and 
shoulders  laxly  drooping,  she  brooded  on  the 
sorrows  of  his  mimic  world. 

"  I  will  do  your  play,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I 
will  do  it  because  I  believe  in  its  method  and  be 
cause  I  think  it  worthy  of  my  highest  powers." 

The  blood  rushed  to  the  playwright's  throat 
and  a  smarting  heat  dimmed  his  eyes.  He 

23 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

spoke  with  difficulty.  "I  thank  you,"  he 
said,  hoarsely.  "It  is  more  than  I  expected; 
and  now  that  you  have  promised  to  do  it,  I 
feel  you  ought  not  to  take  the  risk."  He 
could  say  no  more,  overcome  by  the  cordial 
emphasis  of  her  decision. 

11  There  is  a  risk,  I  will  be  frank  with  you; 
but  your  play  is  worth  it.  I  have  not  been 
so  powerfully  moved  in  years.  You  have 
thrilled  me.  Really  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
deeply  your  theme  has  sunk  into  my  heart. 
You  have  the  Northern  conscience — so  have 
I ;  that  is  why  I  rebel  at  being  merely  the 
plaything  of  a  careless  public.  Yes,  I  will  do 
your  play.  It  is  a  work  of  genius.  I  hope  you 
wrote  it  in  a  garret.  It's  the  kind  of  thing  to 
come  from  a  diet  of  black  bread  and  water." 

He  smiled.  "  I  live  in  a  sort  of  garret,  and 
my  meals  are  frequently  beans  and  brown 
bread.  I  hope  that  will  do." 

"  I  am  glad  the  bread  is  at  least  brown.  .  .  . 
But  you  are  tired.  Leave  the  manuscript 
with  me."  He  rose  and  she  moved  towards 

24 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE    STAR 

him  with  a  gesture  of  confidence  which  made 
words  impossible  to  him.  "When  we  meet 
again  I  want  you  to  tell  me  something  of 
yourself.  .  .  .  Good-night.  You  will  hear  from 
me  soon. ' '  She  was  regal  as  she  said  this — regal 
in  her  own  proper  person,  and  he  went  away 
rapt  with  wonder  and  admiration  of  the  real 
Helen  Merival  as  she  now  stood  revealed  to 
him. 

11  She  is  greater  than  my  dreams  of  her,"  he 
said,  in  a  sort  of  rapture  as  he  walked  the 
street.  "She  is  greater  than  she  herself  can 
know ;  for  her  genius  is  of  the  subtle,  unspeak 
able  deeps — below  her  own  consciousness,  be 
yond  her  own  analysis.  How  much  greater 
her  art  seems,  now  that  I  have  seen  her.  It  is 
marvellous!  She  will  do  my  play,  and  she 
will  succeed — her  power  as  an  actress  would 
carry  it  to  a  success  if  it  were  a  bad  play,  which 
it  is  not.  My  day  has  dawned  at  last." 

Helen  went  to  bed  that  night  with  a  con 
sciousness  that  something  new  and  powerful 

25 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

had  come  into  her  life.  Not  merely  the  play 
and  her  determination  to  do  it  moved  her — 
the  man  himself  profoundly  impressed  her. 
His  seriousness,  his  decision  and  directness  of 
utterance,  and  the  idealism  which  shone  from 
his  rugged,  boyish  face  remained  with  her  to 
the  verge  of  sleep.  He  was  very  handsome, 
and  his  voice  singularly  beautiful,  but  his 
power  to  charm  lay  over  and  beyond  these. 
His  sincere  eyes,  his  freedom  from  flippant 
slang,  these  impressed  her  with  a  sense  of  his 
reliability,  his  moral  worth. 

"  He  is  stern  and  harsh,  but  he  is  fine,"  she 
said  to  her  mother  next  morning,  "and  his 
play  is  very  strong.  I  am  going  to  do  it. 
You  will  like  the  part  of  Lillian.  It  has  the 
Scotch  sense  of  moral  responsibility  in  it." 


II 

JOUGLASS  rose  next  morning 
with  a  bound,  as  if  life  had 
somehow  become  surcharged 
with  fresh  significance,  fresh 
opportunity.  His  professional 
career  seemed  dull  and  prosaic  —  his  critical 
work  of  small  avail.  His  whole  mind  centred 
on  his  play. 

His  was  a  moody,  sensitive  nature.  Stern 
as  he  looked,  and  strong  as  he  really  was,  he 
could  be  depressed  by  a  trifle  or  exalted  by  a 
word.  And  reviewing  his  meeting  with  Helen 
in  the  light  of  the  morning,  he  had  more  than  a 
suspicion  that  he  had  allowed  himself  to  talk 
too  freely  in  the  presence  of  the  brother  and 
3  27 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

mother,  and  that  he  had  been  over-enthusi 
astic,  not  to  say  egotistic;  but  he  was  saved 
from  dejection  by  the  memory  of  the  star's 
great,  brown -black  eyes.  There  was  no  pre 
tence  in  them.  She  had  been  rapt — carried 
out  of  conventional  words  and  graces  by  some 
thing  which  rose  from  the  lines  he  had  written, 
the  characters  he  had  depicted. 

The  deeper  his  scrutiny  went  the  more  im 
portant  she  became  to  him.  She  was  not  sim 
ple — she  was  very  complex,  and  an  artist  of 
wonderful  range,  and  certainty  of  appeal.  He 
liked  the  plain  and  simple  (almost  angular) 
gestures  and  attitudes  she  used  when  talking 
to  him.  They  were  so  broadly  indicative  of 
the  real  Helen  Merival,  and  so  far  from  the 
affectations  he  had  expected  to  see.  Of  course, 
she  was  the  actress — the  mobility  of  her  face, 
her  command  of  herself,  was  far  beyond  that  of 
any  untrained  woman,  no  matter  how  versa 
tile  ;  but  she  was  nobly  the  actress,  broadened 
and  deepened  by  her  art. 

He  was  very  eager  to  see  her  again,  and  as 
28 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

the  day  wore  on  this  desire  grew  to  be  an  ache 
at  his  heart  most  disturbing.  He  became  very 
restless  at  last,  and  did  little  but  walk  around 
the  park,  returning  occasionally  as  the  hour 
for  the  postman  came.  "  I  don't  know  why  I 
should  expect  a  letter  from  her.  I  know  well 
the  dilatory  methods  of  theatrical  people — 
and  to-day  is  rehearsal,  too.  I  am  unreason 
able.  If  I  hear  from  her  in  a  week  I  may 
count  myself  lucky." 

A  message  from  the  dramatic  editor  of  The 
Blazon,  asking  him  to  do  a  special  study  of  an 
English  actor  opening  that  night  at  the  Broad 
way,  annoyed  him.  "I  can't  do  it,"  he  an 
swered.  "  I  have  another  engagement."  And 
recklessly  put  aside  the  opportunity  to  earn  a 
week's  board,  so  exalted  was  he  by  reason  of 
the  word  of  the  woman. 

At  dinner  he  lacked  appetite  entirely,  and 
as  he  had  taken  but  an  egg  and  a  cup  of  coffee 
for  breakfast,  and  had  missed  luncheon  alto 
gether,  he  began  to  question  himself  as  to  the 
meaning  of  his  ailment,  with  sad  attempt  at 
29 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

humor.  "  It  isn't  exactly  as  serious  as  dying. 
Even  if  she  reconsiders  and  returns  my  play, 
I  can  still  make  a  living."  He  would  not  ad 
mit  that  any  other  motive  was  involved. 

He  had  barely  returned  to  his  room  before 
a  knock  at  the  door  announced  a  boy  with  a 
note.  As  he  took  it  in  his  hand  his  nerves 
tingled  as  though  he  had  touched  the  won 
drous  woman's  hand.  The  note  was  brief,  yet 
fateful: 

"  I  enclose  a  ticket  for  the  manager's  box. 
I  hope  you  can  come.  I  Want  to  talk  about 
your  play.  I  will  send  my  brother  to  bring 
you  in  back  to  see  me.  I  have  been  rehears 
ing  all  the  afternoon,  but  I  re-read  the  play 
this  morning  while  in  bed.  I  like  it  better 
and  better,  but  you  can  do  more  with  it — I 
feel  that  you  have  suppressed  the  poetry  here 
and  there.  My  quarrel  with  you  realists  is 
that  you  are  afraid  to  put  into  your  represen 
tations  of  life  the  emotions  that  make  life  a 
dynamic  thing.  But  it  is  stirring  and  sug- 
30 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

gestive  as  it  is.  Come  in  and  talk  with  me,  for 
I  am  full  of  it  and  see  great  possibilities  in 
the  final  act." 

His  hands  were  tremulous  and  his  eyes 
glowing  as  he  put  the  note  down  and  faced 
himself  in  the  glass.  The  pleasure  of  meeting 
her  again  under  such  conditions  made  him 
forget,  for  the  moment,  the  role  she  was  to 
play — a  part  he  particularly  detested.  Truly 
he  was  the  most  fortunate  and  distinguished 
of  men — to  be  thus  taken  by  the  hand  and 
lifted  from  nameless  obscurity  to  the  most 
desired  position  beside  a  great  star. 

He  dressed  with  unusual  care,  and  was  a 
noticeably  handsome  figure  as  he  sat  alone 
in  the  box;  and  elated,  tense,  self-conscious. 
When  she  came  on  and  walked  close  down  to 
the  footlights  nearest  him,  flashing  a  glance 
of  recognition  into  his  eyes,  his  breath  quick 
ened  and  his  face  flushed.  A  swift  inter 
change  of  light  and  fire  took  place  at  the  mo 
ment,  her  eyelids  fell.  She  recoiled  as  if  in 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

dismay,  then  turned  and  apparently  forgot 
him  and  every  one  else  in  the  fervor  of  her 
art. 

A  transforming  readjustment  of  all  the  lines 
of  her  face  took  place.  She  became  sinister, 
mocking,  and  pitiless.  An  exultant  cruelty 
croaked  in  her  voice.  Minute,  repulsive  re- 
modellings  of  her  neck  and  cheeks  changed  her 
to  a  harpy,  and  seeing  these  evidences  of  her 
great  genius  Douglass  grew  bitterly  resentful, 
and  when  she  laughed,  with  the  action  of  a 
vulture  thrusting  her  head  forward  from  the 
shoulders,  he  sickened  and  turned  away.  It 
was  marvellous  work,  but  how  desecrating 
to  her  glorious  womanhood.  Coming  so  close 
on  that  moment  of  mystic  tenderness  it  was 
horrible.  "  My  God!  She  must  not  play  such 
parts.  They  will  leave  their  mark  upon  her." 

When  the  curtain  fell  he  did  not  applaud, 
but  drew  back  into  the  shadow,  sullen,  brood 
ing,  sorrowful.  In  the  tableau  which  followed 
the  recall,  her  eyes  again  sought  for  him 
(though  she  still  moved  in  character),  and 
32 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

the  curtain  fell  upon  the  scene  while  yet  she 
was  seeking  him. 

Here  now  began  a  transformation  in  the 
man.  He  had  come  to  the  theatre  tremulous 
with  eagerness  to  look  upon  her  face,  to  touch 
her  hand,  but  when  her  brother  entered  the 
box,  saying,  "Mr.  Douglass,  this  is  the  best 
time  to  see  my  sister,"  he  rose  slowly  with  a 
curious  reluctance. 

Through  devious  passages  beneath  the  thea 
tre,  Hugh  led  the  way,  while  with  greater  poig 
nancy  than  ever  before  the  young  playwright 
sensed  the  vulgarity,  the  immodesty,  and  the 
dirt  of  the  world  behind  and  below  the  scenes. 
It  was  all  familiar  enough  to  him,  for  he  had 
several  friends  among  the  actors,  but  the 
thought  of  one  so  sovereign  as  Helen  in  the 
midst  of  a  region  so  squalid  stung  him.  He 
was  jealous  of  the  actors,  the  scene-shifters, 
who  were  permitted  to  see  her  come  and  go. 

He  was  reserved  and  rather  pale,  but  per 
fectly  self-contained,  as  he  entered  the  little 
reception-hall  leading  to  her  dressing-room. 
33 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

He  faced  her  with  a  sense  of  dread — apprehen 
sive  of  some  disenchantment.  She  met  him 
cordially,  without  the  slightest  reference  to 
her  make-up,  which  was  less  offensive  than 
he  had  feared ;  but  he  winced,  nevertheless,  at 
the  vulgarity  of  her  part  so  skilfully  suggested 
by  paint  and  powder.  She  gave  him  her  hand 
with  a  frank  gesture.  "You  didn't  applaud 
my  scenes  to-night,"  she  said,  with  a  smile  as 
enigmatic  as  the  one  she  used  in  The  Baroness. 

His  voice  was  curt  with  emotion  as  he  re 
plied,  "No,  I  did  not;  I  couldn't.  They  sad 
dened  me." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked,  with  a 
startled,  anxious  paling  beneath  her  rouge. 

His  voice  was  low,  but  fiercely  reproachful 
in  answer.  "  I  mean  you  should  treat  your 
beautiful  self  and  your  splendid  art  with 
greater  consideration." 

"You  mean  I  should  not  be  playing  such 

women  ?    I  know  it — I  hate  them.    But  no  one 

ever  accused  me  of  taking  my  art  lightly.     I 

work  harder  on  these  uncongenial  roles  than 

34 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

upon  any  other.  They  require  infinitely 
more  effort,  because  I  loathe  them  so." 

"I  mean  more  than  that.  I  am  afraid  to 
have  you  simulate  such  passions.  They  will 
leave  their  mark  on  you.  It  is  defilement. 
Your  womanhood  is  too  fine,  too  beautiful  to 
be  so  degraded." 

She  put  her  hand  to  her  bosom  and  looked 
about  her  restlessly.  His  intensity  scared  her. 
"  I  know  what  you  mean,  but  let  us  not  talk 
of  that  now ;  let  us  discuss  your  play.  I  want 
to  suggest  something  for  your  third  act,  but  I 
must  dress  now.  You  will  wait,  won't  you? 
We  will  have  a  few  minutes  before  I  go  on. 
Please  sit  here  and  wait  for  me." 

He  acquiesced  silently,  as  was  his  fashion. 
There  was  little  of  the  courtier  about  him,  but 
he  became  very  ill  at  ease  as  he  realized  how 
significant  his  waiting  must  seem  to  those  who 
saw  him  there.  Deeply  in  the  snare  as  he  was, 
this  sitting  beside  an  actress's  dressing-room 
door  became  intolerable  to  his  arrogant  soul, 
and  he  was  about  to  flee  when  Hugh  came 
35 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

back  and  engaged  him  in  conversation.  So 
gratified  was  Douglass  for  this  kindness,  he 
made  himself  agreeable  till  such  time  as 
Helen,  in  brilliant  evening-dress,  came  out; 
and  when  Hugh  left  them  together  he  was 
less  assertive  and  brusque  in  manner. 

She  was  so  luminous,  so  queenly,  she  dissi 
pated  his  cloud  of  doubts  and  scruples,  and 
the  tremor  of  the  boyish  lover  came  back  into 
his  limbs  as  he  turned  to  meet  her.  His  voice 
all  but  failed  him  as  he  answered  to  her  ques 
tion. 

For  some  ten  minutes  from  behind  her  mask 
she  talked  of  the  play  with  enthusiasm — her 
sweet  eyes  untouched  of  the  part  she  was 
about  to  resume.  At  last  she  said:  "There  is 
my  cue.  Good-bye!  Can  you  breakfast  with 
us  to-morrow,  at  eleven-thirty?  It's  really  a 
luncheon.  I  know  you  are  an  early  riser;  but 
we  will  have  something  substantial.  Will 
you  come?" 

Her  smooth,  strong  fingers  closed  cordially 
on  his  hand  as  she  spoke,  and  he  answered, 
36 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

quickly,  "With  the  greatest  pleasure  in  the 
world." 

"We  can  talk  at  our  leisure  then.  Good 
bye!"  and  as  she  opened  the  canvas  door  in 
the  "box-scene"  he  heard  her  say,  with  high, 
cool,  insulting  voice,  "Ah,  my  dear  Countess, 
you  are  early."  She  was  The  Baroness  again. 
After  the  fall  of  the  curtain  at  the  end,  Doug 
lass  slipped  out  upon  the  pavement,  his  eyes 
blinded  by  the  radiant  picture  she  made  in 
her  splendid  bridal  robes.  It  was  desolating 
to  see  her  represent  such  a  role,  such  agony, 
such  despair;  and  yet  his  feet  were  reluctant 
to  carry  him  away. 

He  was  like  a  famishing  man,  who  has  been 
politely  turned  from  the  glittering,  savory 
dining-room  into  the  street — only  his  hunger, 
immaterial  as  light,  was  a  thousand  times 
keener  than  that  of  the  one  who  lacks  only 
bread  and  meat.  He  demanded  her  face,  her 
voice,  as  one  calls  for  sunlight,  for  air.  He 
knew  that  this  day,  this  night,  marked  a  new 
era  in  his  life.  Old  things  were  passed  away 
37 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

— new  things,  sweet,  incredible  things,  were 
now  happening. 

Nothing  like  this  unrest  and  deep-seated 
desire  had  ever  come  into  his  life,  and  the 
realization  troubled  him  as  a  dangerous  weak 
ness.  It  enslaved  him,  and  he  resented  it. 
He  secured  a  new  view  on  his  play,  also,  with 
its  accusing  defiance  of  dramatic  law  and  cus 
tom.  In  this  moment  of  clear  vision  he  was 
permitted  a  prevision  of  Helen  struggling  with 
the  rebellious  critics.  Now  that  he  had  twice 
taken  her  hand  he  was  no  longer  so  indifferent 
to  the  warfare  of  the  critics,  though  he  knew 
they  could  not  harm  one  so  powerful  as  she. 

In  the  end  of  his  tumult  he  wrote  her  a  letter, 
wherein  he  began  by  begging  her  pardon  for 
seeming  to  interfere  in  the  slightest  degree 
with  her  work  in  the  world.  His  letter  con 
tinued  : 

"I  have  back  of  me  the  conscience  of  my 
Scotch  forebears,  and  though  my  training 
in  college  and  in  my  office  has  covered  my 

38 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

conscience  with  a  layer  of  office  dust  it  is  still 
there.  Of  course  (and  obviously)  you  are  not 
touched  by  the  words  and  deeds  of  the  women 
you  represent,  but  I  somehow  feel  that  it  is 
a  desecration  of  your  face  and  voice  to  put 
them  to  such  uses.  That  is  the  reason  I 
dreaded  to  go  back  and  see  you  to-night.  If 
you  were  seeking  praise  of  your  own  proper 
self,  the  sincerity  of  this  compliment  is  un 
questionable.  I  ought  to  say,  *  I  hope  my 
words  to-night  did  not  disturb  you,'  but  I  will 
not,  for  I  hope  to  see  you  speedily  drop  all 
such  hideous  characters  as  The  Baroness  Telka. 
I  felt  as  an  artist  might  upon  seeing  a  glorious 
statue  befouled  with  mire.  I  say  this  not  be 
cause  I  wish  you  to  do  Lillian.  In  the  light 
of  last  night's  performance  my  own  play  is  a 
gray  autumn  day  with  a  touch  of  frost  in  the 
air.  It  is  inconceivable  that  you  should  be 
vitally  interested  in  it.  I  fear  no  play  that  I 
care  to  write  will  please  a  sufficient  number 
of  people  to  make  its  production  worth  your 
while.  I  release  you  from  your  promise.  Be- 
39 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE    STAR 

lieve  me,  I  am  shaken  in  my  confidence  to 
night.  Your  audience  seemed  so  heartless, 
so  debased  of  taste.  They  applauded  most 
loudly  the  things  most  revolting  to  me.  Since 
I  have  come  to  know  you  I  cannot  afford  to 
have  you  make  a  sacrifice  of  yourself  to  pro 
duce  my  play,  much  as  I  desire  to  see  you  in 
new  characters." 

As  he  dropped  this  letter  into  the  box  a 
storm-wave  of  his  former  bitterness  and  self- 
accusation  swept  over  him. 

"  That  ends  another  attempt  to  get  my  play 
staged.  Her  manager  will  unquestionably 
refuse  to  consider  it." 


Ill 


'ELEN  read  Douglass's  letter 
next  morning  while  still  in  bed, 
and  its  forthright  assault  made 
her  shiver.  She  did  not  attempt 
to  deceive  herself.  She  acknowl 
edged  the  singular  power  of  this  young  man  to 
shake  her,  to  change  her  course  of  action.  From 
the  first  she  acknowledged  something  almost 
terrifying  in  the  appeal  of  his  eyes,  a  power 
which  he  seemed  unconscious  of.  His  words 
of  condemnation,  of  solicitude,  troubled  her  as 
the  praise  of  no  other  man  in  all  her  life  had 
done.  He  had  spoken  to  her  soul,  making  her 
triumph  over  the  vast  audience  loathsome — 
almost  criminal. 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

He  was  handsome — a  manly  man — but  so 
were  dozens  of  others  of  her  wide  acquaintance. 
His  talent  was  undeniable,  but  he  was  still 
obscure,  undeveloped,  a  failure  as  an  archi 
tect,  unambitious  as  a  critic,  though  that  was 
his  best  point.  His  articles  in  The  Blazon  pos 
sessed  unusual  insight  and  candor.  Beyond 
this  she  knew  as  little  of  him  as  of  any  other  of 
the  young  newspaper  men  who  sought  her  ac 
quaintance,  and  yet  he  had  somehow  changed 
her  world  for  her  in  these  two  meetings. 

She  let  the  letter  fall  on  her  breast,  and  lay 
with  her  eyes  fastened  upon  a  big  rose  in  a 
pot  on  the  window-sill — the  gift  of  another 
admirer.  "I  do  know  more  of  him.  I  know 
that  he  is  strong,  sincere.  He  does  not  flatter 
me — not  even  to  win  me  to  his  play.  He  does 
not  hasten  to  send  me  flowers,  and  I  like  him 
for  that.  If  I  were  to  take  his  point  of  view, 
all  my  roles  and  half  my  triumphs  would 
drop  from  me.  But  is  there  not  a  subtle 
letting-down,  a  disintegration?  May  he  not 
be  right,  after  all?" 

42 


THE   LIGHT   OF   THE   STAR 

She  went  over  once  more  the  talk  of  the  few 
moments  they  had  spent  together,  finding 
each  time  in  all  his  words  less  to  criticise  and 
more  to  admire.  "He  does  not  conceal  his 
hate,"  she  said;  and  she  might  have  added, 
"Or  his  love,"  for  she  was  aware  of  her  do 
minion,  and  divined,  though  she  did  not 
whisper  it  even  to  herself,  that  his  change  of 
attitude  with  regard  to  her  roles  came  from 
his  change  of  feeling  towards  her.  "  He  has  a 
great  career.  I  will  not  allow  him  to  spoil  his 
own  future,"  she  decided,  at  length,  in  her  own 
large-minded  way.  And  there  were  sweet, 
girlish  lines  about  her  mouth  when  her  mother 
came  in  to  inquire  how  she  felt. 

"Very  much  like  work,  mamma,  and  I'm 
going  to  catch  up  on  my  correspondence.  Mr. 
Douglass  is  coming  to  take  breakfast  with  us,  to 
talk  about  his  play.  I  wish  you  would  see  that 
there  is  something  that  a  big  man  can  eat." 

The  note  she  sent  in  answer  to  his  was  like 
herself — firm,  assured,  but  gentle: 
4  43 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

"  MR.  DOUGLASS, — '  What  came  you  out  for 
to  see — a  reed  shaken  with  the  wind?'  I 
know  my  own  mind,  and  I  am  not  afraid  of 
my  future.  I  should  be  sorry  to  fail,  of  course, 
especially  on  your  account,  but  a  succes  cTes- 
time  is  certain  in  your  case,  and  my  own  per 
sonal  following  is  large  enough — joined  with 
the  actual  lovers  of  good  drama  —  to  make 
the  play  pay  for  itself.  Please  come  to  my 
combination  breakfast  and  luncheon,  as  you 
promised,  and  we  can  arrange  dates  and  other 
details  of  the  production,  for  my  mind  is  made 
up.  I  am  going  to  do  your  play,  come  what 
will.  I  thank  you  for  having  started  all  my 
dormant  resolutions  into  life  again.  I  shall 
expect  you  at  twelve- thirty." 

Having  despatched  this  note  by  special 
messenger,  she  serenely  set  to  work  on  less 
important  matters,  and  met  him  in  modish 
street  dress  —  trim  and  neat  and  very  far 
from  the  meretricious  glitter  of  The  Baroness. 
He  was  glad  of  this;  he  would  have  dis- 
44 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

liked  her  in  negligee,  no  matter  how  "ar 
tistic." 

Her  greeting  was  frank  and  unstudied. 
"  I'm  glad  you've  come.  There  are  oceans  of 
things  to  talk  over." 

11  There  was  nothing  else  for  me  to  do  but 
come,"  he  replied,  with  a  meaning  light  in  his 
eyes.  "  Your  letter  was  a  command." 

"I'm  sorry  it  takes  a  command  to  bring 
you  to  breakfast  with  us.  True,  this  is  not 
the  breakfast  to  be  given  in  your  honor — that 
will  come  later." 

"  It  would  be  safer  to  have  it  before  the  play 
is  produced,"  he  replied,  grimly.  , 

Helen  turned  to  her  brother.  "  Hugh,  we 
have  in  Mr.  Douglass  a  man  not  sanguine  of 
the  success  of  his  play.  What  does  that  ar 
gue?" 

"A  big  hit!"  he  promptly  replied. 

The  servants  came  and  went  deftly,  and 

Douglass   quite    lost   sight  of  the  fact  that 

the  breakfast-room  was  high  in  a  tower-like 

hotel,  for  Helen's  long  engagement  in  the  city 

45 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

had  enabled  her  to  make  herself  exceedingly 
comfortable  even  amid  the  hectic  color  and 
insistent  gilt  of  the  Hotel  Embric.  The 
apartment  not  only  received  the  sun,  a  royal 
privilege  in  New  York,  but  it  was  gay  with 
flowers,  both  potted  and  in  vases,  and  the 
walls  were  decorated  with  drawings  of  her 
own  choosing.  Only  the  furniture  remained 
uncompromisingly  of  the  hotel  tone. 

"  I  did  intend  to  refurnish,  but  mother,  who 
retains  a  little  of  her  old  Scotch  training, 
talked  me  out  of  it,"  Helen  explained,  in  an 
swer  to  a  query.  "  Is  there  anything  more 
hopelessly .'  handsome '  and  shining  than  these 
chairs?  There's  so  little  to  find  fault  with, 
and  so  little  to  really  admire." 

"They're  like  a  ready-made  suit — unob 
jectionable,  but  not  fit." 

"They  have  no  soul.  How  could  they 
have?  They  were  made  by  machines  for  un 
distinguished  millions."  She  broke  off  this 
discussion.  "I  am  eager  for  a  run  through 
the  park.  Won't  you  go?  Hugh  is  my  en- 
46 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

gineer.  Reckless  as  he  looks,  I  find  him  quite 
reliable  as  a  tinker,  and  you  know  the  auto  is 
still  in  the  tinkery  stage." 

"  I  have  a  feeling  that  it  is  still  in  the  dan 
gerous  stage,"  he  said.  "  But  I  will  go."  He 
said  this  in  a  tone  of  desperation  which  amused 
them  all  very  much. 

It  was  impossible  for  him  to  remain  glum 
in  the  midst  of  the  good  cheer  of  that  luxuri 
ous  little  breakfast  with  the  promise  of  a  ride 
in  the  park  in  prospect.  A  few  moments  later 
a  young  girl,  Miss  Fanny  Cummings,  came  in 
with  a  young  man  who  looked  like  an  actor, 
but  was,  in  fact,  Hugh's  college-mate  and 
"advance  man"  for  Helen,  and  together  they 
went  down  to  the  auto-car. 

There  was  a  well-defined  sense  of  luxury  in 
being  in  Helen  Merival's  party.  The  atten 
dants  in  the  hotel  were  so  genuinely  eager  to 
serve  her,  and  the  carefully  considered  com 
fort  of  everything  she  possessed  was  very  at 
tractive  to  a  man  like  George  Douglass,  son 
of  a  village  doctor,  who  had  toiled  from  child- 
47 


THE    LIGHT   OF   THE   STAR 

hood  to  earn  every  dollar  he  spent.  To  ride 
in  such  swift  and  shining  state  with  any  one 
would  have  had  extraordinary  interest,  and  to 
sit  beside  Helen  in  the  comparative  privacy 
of  the  rear  seat  put  a  boyish  glow  of  romance 
into  his  heart.  Her  buoyant  and  sunny  spirit 
reacted  on  his  moody  and  supersensitive  nat 
ure  till  his  face  shone  with  pleasure.  He  for 
got  his  bitter  letter  of  the  night  before,  and 
for  the  moment  work  and  worry  were  driven 
from  his  world.  He  entered  upon  a  dream 
land — the  city  of  menace  disappeared. 

The  avenue  was  gay  with  promenaders  and 
thick  with  carriages.  Other  autos  met  them 
with  cordial  clamor  of  gongs,  and  now  and 
then  some  driver  more  lawless  than  Hugh 
dashed  past  them  in  reckless  race  towards 
the  park.  The  playwright  had  never  seen  so 
many  of  New  York's  glittering  carriages,  and 
the  growing  arrogance  of  its  wealth  took  on 
a  new  aspect  from  his  newly  acquired  view 
point.  Here  were  rapidly  centring  the  great 
leaders  of  art,  of  music,  of  finance.  Here  the 
48 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

social  climbers  were  clustering,  eager  to  be 
great  in  a  city  of  greatness.  Here  the  chief 
ones  in  literature  and  the  drama  must  come 
as  to  a  market-place,  and  with  this  thought 
came  a  mighty  uplift.  "Surely  success  is 
now  mine,"  he  thought,  exultantly,  ufor  here 
I  sit  the  favored  dramatist  of  this  wondrous 
woman." 

There  was  little  connected  conversation — 
only  short  volleys  of  jests  as  they  whizzed 
along  the  splendid  drives  of  the  park — but 
Douglass  needed  little  more  than  Helen's 
shining  face  to  put  him  at  peace  with  all  the 
world.  Each  moment  increased  their  inti 
macy. 

He  told  her  of  his  stern  old  father,  a  coun 
try  doctor  in  the  West,  of  the  way  in  which 
his  brother  and  sisters  were  scattered  from 
North  to  South,  and  how  he  came  to  set 
his  face  Eastward  while  all  the  others  went 
West. 

"How  handsome  he  is,"  thought  Helen. 

"How  beautiful  you  are,"  his  glances  said 
49 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

in  answer,  and  both  grew  young  beneath  the 
touch  of  love. 

When  they  were  once  more  in  the  hotel 
Helen  cried  out: 

" There!  Isn't  your  brain  washed  clear  of 
all  doubts?  Come,  let's  to  work  at  the  play." 

He  looked  down  at  her  with  eyes  whose 
glow  made  her  eyelids  fall  in  maidenly  de 
fence.  "I  am  capable  of  anything  you  ask," 
he  said,  with  quiet  power. 

After  a  long  and  spirited  discussion  of  the 
last  act  she  said:  "Well,  now,  we'll  put  it  in 
rehearsal  as  soon  as  you  feel  that  it  is  ready. 
I  believe  in  doing  a  part  while  the  spell  of  its 
newness  is  on  me.  I  shall  put  this  on  in  place 
of  the  revival  of  Rachel  Endicott"  She  rose 
on  the  wave  of  her  enthusiasm.  "  I  feel  the 
part  taking  hold  of  me.  I  will  make  Lillian's 
Duty  the  greatest  success  of  my  life,  and  the 
lion's  share  of  both  honor  and  money  shall 
be  yours." 

He  left  the  hotel  quite  as  exalted  as  he  had 
been  previously  depressed.  The  pleasure  of 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

sitting  by  her  side  for  four  blessed  hours  en 
riched  him  to  the  point  of  being  sorry  for  all 
the  rest  of  the  world.  The  Prince  of  Wales 
had  been  denied  an  introduction  to  her,  he 
had  read ;  therefore  the  Prince  was  poor. 


HE  reading  of  the  play  took 
place  on  the  Monday  morning 
following,  and  was  an  exceed 
ingly  formal  and  dignified  func 
tion.  The  principal  players 
came  prepared  to  be  politely  interested,  while 
some  of  the  lesser  minds  were  actually  curi 
ous  to  taste  the  quality  of  the  play  as  a  piece 
of  writing. 

As  there  was  no  greenroom  in  the  Wester- 
velt,  the  reading  took  place  on  the  open 
stage,  which  was  bleak  and  draughty.  The 
company  sat  in  a  funereal  semicircle,  with  the 
author,  the  star,  and  the  manager  in  a  short 
line  facing  them.  All  the  men  retained  their 
52 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

overcoats,  for  the  morning  was  miserably 
raw,  and  at  Helen's  positive  command  kept 
their  heads  covered;  and  the  supernumerary 
women  sat  shivering  in  their  jackets.  Helen 
was  regal  in  a  splendid  cloak  of  sable,  other 
wise  there  was  little  of  the  successful  actress  in 
her  dress.  At  her  suggestion  a  box-scene  was 
set  around  them  to  keep  off  at  least  a  part  of 
the  draught,  and  under  these  depressing  con 
ditions  the  reading  proceeded. 

Douglass  was  visibly  disheartened  by  the 
surroundings,  but  set  manfully  to  work,  and 
soon  controlled  the  attention  of  all  the  play 
ers  except  two,  who  made  it  a  boast  that  they 
had  never  read  a  play  or  listened  to  one.  "  I 
am  interested  only  in  me  lines,  me  boy,"  said 
one  of  them. 

"And  your  acting  shows  it,"  replied  Doug 
lass,  with  quiet  sarcasm,  and  proceeded  to  the 
second  act. 

"You  read  that  with  greater  power  here 
than  to  me,"  said  Helen.     "I  wish  we  could 
give  it  the  same  unity  and  sweep  of  expression 
53 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

as  we  act  it."  She  addressed  the  company 
in  her  calm,  clear  voice:  "  I  hope  you  will  all 
observe  carefully  Mr.  Douglass's  reading.  He 
is  giving  us  most  valuable  advice  in  every  in 
flection." 

Her  attitude  towards  her  company  was  ad 
mirable  in  its  simplicity  and  reserve.  It  was 
plain  that  she  respected  their  personalities  and 
expected  the  same  high  courtesy  from  them. 
Some  of  the  men  were  of  the  kind  who  say 
"My  deah"  to  every  woman,  and  "My  deah 
boy"  to  the  most  casual  acquaintance — vain, 
egotistical,  wordy,  and  pompous;  but  one 
glance  from  Helen  was  sufficient  to  check  an 
over-familiar  hand  in  mid -air.  The  boldest  of 
them  did  not  clap  her  on  the  shoulder  but 
once. 

The  reading  passed  to  a  rather  enthusiastic 
finish,  and  Douglass  then  said:  "I  have  read 
the  play  to  you  carefully,  because  I  believe — 
I  know — that  an  intelligent  rendition  of  your 
individual  parts  is  impossible  without  a  clear 
knowledge  of  the  whole  drama.  My  theories 

54 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE  STAR 

of  a  play  and  its  representation  are  these: 
As  an  author,  I  see  every  detail  of  a  scene  as 
if  it  were  a  section  of  life.  I  know  where  all 
my  people  are  at  each  moment  of  time,  and 
their  positions  must  be  determined  by  the 
logic  of  the  picture  without  any  reference  to 
those  who  wish  to  hold  the  centre  of  the  stage. 
In  a  certain  sense  you  are  only  different-col 
ored  pigments  in  my  hands,  to  be  laid  on  to 
form  a  unified  painting.  You  must  first  of  all 
learn  to  subordinate  yourselves  to  the  designs 
of  the  author.  I  know  this  sounds  harsh — 
seems  to  reduce  you  to  a  very  low  level  of  in 
telligence;  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  most 
highly  gifted  of  our  actors  to-day  are  those 
who  are  able  to  do  this  very  thing — to  carry 
in  their  minds  a  conception  of  the  unity  of 
a  scene,  never  thrusting  their  personalities 
through  it  or  out  of  it.  I  mention  these  points 
because  I  intend  to  assist  in  the  rehearsals, 
and  I  don't  want  to  be  misunderstood." 

Helen  interposed  a  word:  "I  need  not  say 
that  I  consider  this  a  very  powerful  play— 
55 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

with  that  opinion  you  all  agree,  I  am  sure — 
but  I  want  to  say  further  that  Mr.  Douglass 
has  the  right  to  demand  of  each  of  us  subor 
dination  to  the  inner  design  of  his  work.  I 
am  personally  very  glad  always  to  avail  my 
self  of  the  author's  criticism  and  suggestion. 
I  hope  you  will  all  feel  the  same  willingness 
to  carry  out  Mr.  Douglass's  scenes  as  he  has 
written  them.  Mr.  Saunders,  will  you  please 
give  out  the  parts  and  call  a  rehearsal  for  to 
morrow  at  ten  o'clock  sharp?" 

At  this  point  all  rose.  Saunders,  a  plain 
little  man,  highly  pleased  with  his  authority, 
began  to  bustle  about,  bellowing  boisterously : 
"Here  you  are  now — everybody  come  letter- 
perfect  to-morrow.  Sharp  at  ten.  No  lag 
ging." 

The  players,  accustomed  to  his  sounding 
assumption  of  command,  paid  no  attention 
other  than  to  clutch  their  rolls  of  type-written 
manuscript.  Each  withdrew  into  the  street 
with  an  air  of  haste. 

As   Helen   received   her  portion   Saunders 

56 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

said:  "  Here,  Miss  Merival,  is  a  fat  part — must 
be  yours.  Jee-rusalem  the  golden!  I'd  hate 
to  tackle  that  role." 

Douglass  was  ready  to  collar  the  ass  for  his 
impudent  tone,  but  Helen  seemed  to  consider 
it  no  more  than  the  harmless  howl  of  a  chair 
sliding  across  the  floor.  She  was  inured  to 
the  old-time  "  assistant  stage-manager." 

Turning  to  Douglass,  she  said,  "Do  you 
realize,  Mr.  Author,  that  we  are  now  actually 
begun  upon  your  play?" 

"  No,  I  do  not.  I  confess  it  all  seems  a 
make-believe — a  joke." 

"  You'll  not  think  it  a  joke  at  the  end  of  the 
week.  It's  terribly  hard  work  to  put  on  a  big 
piece  like  this.  If  I  seem  apathetic  in  my 
part  I  beg  you  not  to  worry.  I  must  save 
myself  all  I  can.  I  never  begin  to  act  at  re 
hearsal  till  I  have  thought  the  business  all  out 
in  my  mind.  But  come,  you  are  to  lunch 
with  us  in  honor  of  the  first  rehearsal,  and  it 
is  late." 

"  It  seems  a  deplorable  thing  that  you  must 
57 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

come  every  morning  to  this  gloomy  and  re 
pellent  place— 

"Ah!  this  is  a  part  of  our  life  the  public 
knows  nothing  of.  They  all  come  to  it — the 
divine  Sarah,  Duse — none  are  exempt.  The 
glamour  of  the  foot-lights  at  night  does  not 
warm  the  theatre  at  eleven  of  the  morning." 

"I  see  it  does  not,"  he  answered,  lightly; 
but  in  reality  he  felt  that  something  sweet  and 
something  regal  was  passing  out  of  his  con 
ception  of  her.  To  see  her  even  seated  with 
these  commonplace  men  and  women  detracted 
even  from  her  glory,  subjected  her  to  the  same 
laws.  It  was  a  relief  to  get  out  into  the  gay 
street — to  her  carriage,  and  to  the  hotel  where 
the  attendants  hovered  about  her  as  bees 
about  their  queen. 

She  was  in  high  spirits  all  through  the 
luncheon,  and  Douglass  was  carried  out  of 
his  dark  gravity  by  her  splendid  vitality,  her 
humor,  and  her  hopefulness. 

''All  you  need  is  a  hearing,"  she  said.  "  And 
you  shall  have  that.  Oh,  but  there  is  a  wil- 

58 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

derness  of  work  before  us!  Can  you  design 
the  scenes?  I  like  to  do  that.  It's  like  play 
ing  with  doll -houses.  I'll  show  you  how. 
We'll  leave  the  financial  side  of  it  to  you, 
Hugh,"  she  said,  to  her  brother.  "Come, 
Mr.  Playwright,"  and  they  set  to  work  with 
paste  and  card -board  like  a  couple  of  children, 
and  soon  had  models  of  all  the  sets.  They 
seemed  childish  things  indeed,  but  Helen  was 
mistress  of  even  the  mechanical  side  of  the 
stage,  and  these  paste-pot  sketches  were  of 
the  greatest  value  to  the  scene-painter  and 
the  carpenter, 
s 


HESE  three  weeks  of  rehear 
sal  formed  the  happiest  time 
Douglass  had  ever  known,  for 
all  things  conspired  to  make 
each  day  brim  with  mingled 
work  and  worship.  First  of  all,  and  above 
all,  he  was  permitted  to  meet  Helen  each 
day,  and  for  hours  each  day,  without  fear  of 
gossip  and  without  seeking  for  an  excuse. 

Each  morning,  a  little  before  ten,  he  left  his 
room  and  went  directly  to  the  theatre  to  meet 
the  company  and  the  manager.  The  star, 
prompt  as  a  clock,  arrived  soon  after,  and 
Douglass,  beforehand,  as  a  lover,  was  always 
there  to  help  her  from  her  carriage  and  to  lead 
60 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

the  way  through  the  dark  passage  to  the  stage, 
where  the  pompous  little  Saunders  was  for 
ever  marshalling  his  uneasy  vassals  in  joyous 
exercise  of  sovereignty. 

Helen  was  happy  as  a  child  during  these 
days,  and  glowing  with  new  ideas  of  "  busi 
ness"  and  stage-setting.  "We  will  spare  no 
work  and  no  expense,"  she  said,  buoyantly, 
to  Mr.  Westervelt,  her  manager.  "We  have 
a  drama  worthy  of  us.  I  want  every  one  of 
Mr.  Douglass's  ideas  carried  out." 

The  manager  did  not  know,  as  Douglass  did, 
that  some  of  the  ideas  were  her  own,  and  so 
took  a  melancholy  view  of  every  innovation. 

"You  can't  do  that,"  he  gloomily  repeated. 
"The  public  won't  stand  for  new  things. 
They  want  the  old  scenes  rehashed.  The  pub 
lic  don't  want  to  think;  it  wants  to  laugh. 
This  story  is  all  right  for  a  book,  but  won't  do 
for  a  play.  I  don't  see  why  you  quit  a  good 
thing  for  a  risk  like  this.  It  is  foolish  and  will 
lose  money,"  he  added,  as  a  climax. 

"Croak,  you  old  raven — you'll  be  embar- 
61 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

rassed  when  we  fill  your  money-box,"  she  re 
plied,  gayly.  "  You  should  have  an  ideal,  Mr. 
Westervelt." 

"An  ideal.     What  should  I  do  with  that?" 

Like  most  men,  Douglass  knew  nothing 
about  gowns  in  their  constituent  parts,  but  he 
had  a  specially  keen  eye  for  the  fitting  and 
beautiful  in  a  woman's  toilet,  and  Helen  was 
a  constant  delight  to  him  because  of  the  dis 
tinction  of  her  dresses.  They  were  refined,  yet 
not  weakly  so  —  simple,  yet  always  alluring. 
Under  the  influence  of  her  optimism  (and  also 
because  he  did  not  wish  to  have  her  apologize 
for  him)  he  drew  on  his  slender  bank-account 
for  funds  to  provide  himself  with  a  carefully 
tailored  suit  of  clothes  and  a  new  hat. 

"How  well  you  are  looking!"  she  said,  in 
soft  aside,  as  he  met  her  one  morning  soon 
after.  "Your  hat  is  very  becoming." 

"  I  am  made  all  over  new  inside — so  I  has 
tened  to  typify. the  change  exteriorly.  I  am 
rejoiced  if  you  like  me  in  my  'glad  rags,'"  he 
replied. 

62 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

"You  are  really  splendid,"  she  answered, 
with  admiring  fervor.  "  Let  us  hurry  through 
to-day;  I  am  tired  and  want  a  spin  in  the 
park." 

"That  is  for  you  to  say,"  he  answered. 

"  You  are  never  tired,"  she  sighed.  "  I  wish 
I  had  your  endurance." 

"It  is  the  endurance  of  desperation.  I  am 
staking  all  I  have  on  this  venture."  Then,  in 
low- toned  intensity,  he  added:  "It  hurts  me 
to  have  you  forced  to  go  over  and  over  these 
lines  because  of  the  stupidity  of  a  bunch  of 
cheap  little  people.  Why  don't  you  let  me 
read  your  part?" 

"That  would  not  be  fair,"  she  answered, 
quickly — "neither  to  them  nor  to  you.  No, 
I  am  an  actress,  and  this  is  a  part  of  my  life. 
We  are  none  of  us  exempt  from  the  universal 
curse." 

"Royleston  is  our  curse.  Please  let  me 
kick  him  out  the  stage-door — he  is  an  insuffer 
able  ass,  and  a  bad  actor  besides." 

"  He  is  an  ass,  but  he  can  act.     No,  it's  too 

63 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

late  to  change  him  now.  Wait;  be  patient. 
He'll  pull  up  and  surprise  you  at  the  final  re 
hearsal." 

At  four  o'clock  they  were  spinning  up  Fifth 
Avenue,  which  resounded  with  the  hoof- 
strokes  of  stately  horses,  and  glittered  with 
the  light  of  varnished  leather.  The  rehearsal 
was  put  far  behind  them.  The  day  was  glori 
ous  November,  and  the  air  sparkling  without 
being  chill.  A  sudden  exaltation  seized  Helen. 
"It  certainly  is  a  beautiful  world — don't  you 
think  so?"  she  asked. 

"  I  do  now;  I  didn't  two  weeks  ago,"  he  re 
plied,  soberly. 

"What  has  brought  the  change?" 

"  You  have."     He  looked  at  her  steadily. 

She  chose  to  be  evasive.  "I  had  a  friend 
some  years  ago  who  was  in  the  deeps  of  de 
spair  because  no  one  would  publish  her  book. 
Once  she  had  secured  the  promise  of  a  real 
publisher  that  he  would  take  it  she  was  ra 
diant.  She  thought  the  firm  had  been  won- 
drously  kind.  They  made  thirty  thousand 

64 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

dollars  from  the  sale  of  her  book.  I  am  self 
ish — don't  you  think  I'm  not — I'm  going  to 
make  fame  and  lots  of  money  on  your  play." 

"  I  hope  you  may,  for  am  I  not  to  share  in 
all  your  gold  and  glory  ?  I  have  greater  need 
of  both  than  you.  You  already  have  all  that 
mortal  could  desire.  I  don't  believe  I've  told 
you  what  I  called  you  before  I  met  you — have 
I?" 

"No;  what  was  it?"  Her  eyes  widened 
with  interest. 

" '  The  glittering  woman.' " 

She  looked  puzzled.     "Why  that?" 

"Because  of  the  glamour,  the  mystery, 
which  surrounded  your  name." 

"Even  now  I  don't  see." 

He  looked  amused  and  cried  out:  "On  my 
life,  I  believe  you  don't!  Being  at  the  source 
of  the  light,  you  can't  see  it,  of  course.  It's 
like  wearing  a  crown  of  electric  lamps — others 
see  you  as  a  dazzling  thing;  you  are  in  the 
dark.  It  is  my  trade  to  use  words  to  express 
my  meaning,  but  I  confess  my  hesitation  in 

65 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

trying  to  make  you  see  yourself  as  I  saw  you. 
You  were  like  a  baleful,  purple  star,  something 
monstrous  yet  beautiful.  Your  fame  filled 
the  world  and  fell  into  my  garret  chamber 
like  a  lurid  sunrise.  With  your  coming,  mys 
terious  posters  bloomed  and  crimson  letters 
blazed  on  street- walls.  Praiseful  paragraphs 
appeared  in  the  newspapers,  gowns  and  hats 
(named  after  you)  and  belt-buckles  and  shoes 
and  cigarettes  arranged  themselves  in  the 
windows,  each  bearing  your  name." 

"What  a  load  of  tinsel  for  a  poor  little 
woman  to  carry  around!  How  it  must  have 
shocked  you  to  find  me  so  commonplace! 
None  of  us  escape  the  common  fates.  It  is  al 
ways  a  surprise  to  me  to  discover  how  simple 
the  men  of  great  literary  fame  are.  A  friend 
of  mine  once  spent  a  whole  evening  with  a 
great  novelist  without  discovering  who  he 
was.  She  said  to  him  when  she  found  him 
out,  '  I  couldn't  believe  that  any  one  I  could 
meet  could  be  great.'  Really,  I  hope  you  will 
forgive  me  for  not  being  as  superhuman  as 
66 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

my  posters.  It  was  the  mystery  of  the  un 
known.  If  you  knew  all  about  me  I  would  be 
entirely  commonplace."  She  was  more  con 
cerned  about  his  opinion  of  her  than  she  ex 
pressed  in  words.  Her  eagerness  appeared 
in  her  voice. 

"  I  found  you  infinitely  more  womanly  than 
I  had  supposed,  and  simpler.  Even  yet  I 
don't  see  how  you  can  carry  this  oppressive 
weight  of  advertising  glory  and  still  be — what 
you  are." 

"You  seem  to  hesitate  to  tell  me  what  I 
am." 

"I  do,"  he  gravely  answered,  and  for  a 
moment  she  sat  in  silence. 

"There's  one  objection  to  your  assisting  at 
rehearsals,"  she  said,  irrelevantly.  "  You  will 
lose  all  the  intoxication  of  seeing  your  play 
freshly  bodied  forth.  It  will  be  a  poor,  old, 
ragged  story  for  you  at  the  end  of  the  three 
weeks." 

"I've  thought  of  that;  but  there  are  other 
compensations. ' ' 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

"  You  mean  the  pleasure  of  having  the  work 
go  right— 

"Yes,  partly  that — partly  the  suggestion 
that  comes  from  a  daily  study  of  it." 

But  the  greatest  compensation  of  all — the 
joy  in  her  daily  companionship — he  did  not 
have  the  courage  to  mention,  and  though  she 
divined  other  and  deeper  emotions  she,  too, 
was  silent. 


VI 


(N  the  wearisome  grind  of  re 
hearsal,  Douglass  was  deeply 
touched  and  gratified  by  Hel 
en's  efforts  to  aid  him.  She 
was  always  willing  to  try  again, 
and  remained  self-contained  even  when  the 
author  flung  down  the  book  and  paced  the 
stage  in  a  breathless  rage.  "Ah,  the  stupid 
ity  of  these  people!"  he  exclaimed,  after  one 
of  these  interruptions.  "They  are  impossi 
ble.  They  haven't  the  brains  of  a  rabbit. 
Take  Royleston;  you'd  think  he  ought  to 
know  enough  to  read  a  simple  line  like  that, 
but  he  doesn't.  He  can't  even  imitate  my 
way  of  reading  it.  They're  all  so  absorbed 
in  their  plans  to  make  a  hit — " 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

"Like  their  star,"  she  answered,  with  a 
gleam  in  her  eyes,  "and  the  author." 

"But  our  aims  are  larger." 

"  But  not  more  vital;  their  board  and  wash 
ing  hang  on  their  success." 

He  refused  to  smile.  "They  are  geese.  I 
hate  to  have  you  giving  time  and  labor  to 
such  numskulls.  You  should  give  your  time 
to  your  own  part." 

"I'm  a  quick  study.  Please  don't  worry 
about  me.  Come,  let's  go  on ;  we'll  forget  all 
about  it  to-morrow,"  and  with  a  light  hand  on 
his  arm  she  led  him  back  to  the  front  of  the 
stage,  and  the  rehearsal  proceeded. 

It  was  the  hardest  work  he  ever  did,  and  he 
showed  it.  Some  of  the  cast  had  to  be 
changed.  Two  dropped  out — allured  by  a 
better  wage — and  all  the  work  on  their  char 
acterizations  had  to  be  done  over.  Others 
were  always  late  or  sick,  and  Royleston  was 
generally  thick-headed  from  carousal  at  his 
club.  Then  there  were  innumerable  details 
of  printing  and  scenery  to  be  decided  upon, 

70 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

and  certain  overzealous  minor  actors  came  to 
him  to  ask  about  their  wigs  and  their  facial 
make-up. 

In  desperation  over  the  small-fry  he  took 
the  stage  himself,  helping  them  in  their  group 
ings  and  exits,  which  kept  him  on  his  feet  and 
keyed  to  high  nervous  tension  for  hours  at  a 
time,  so  that  each  day  his  limbs  ached  and  his 
head  swam  at  the  close  of  the  last  act. 

He  marvelled  at  Helen's  endurance  and  at 
her  self-restraint.  She  was  always  ready  to 
interpose  gently  when  hot  shot  began  to  fly, 
and  could  generally  bring  about  a  laugh  and 
a  temporary  truce  by  some  pacific  word. 

Hugh  and  Westervelt  both  came  to  her  to 
say:  "Tell  Douglass  to  let  up.  He  expects 
too  much  of  these  people.  He's  got  'em 
rattled.  Tell  him  to  go  and  slide  down-hill 
somewhere." 

11 1  can't  do  that,"  she  answered.  "  It's  his 
play — his  first  play — and — he's  right.  He 
has  an  ideal,  and  it  will  do  us  all  good  to  live 
up  to  it." 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

To  this  Hugh  replied,  with  bitterness, 
"  You're  too  good  to  him.  I  wish  you  weren't 
quite  so — "  He  hesitated.  "They're  be 
ginning  to  talk  about  it." 

"About  what?"  she  asked,  quickly. 

"About  his  infatuation." 

Her  eyes  grew  steady  and  penetrating,  but 
a  slow,  faint  flush  showed  her  self-conscious 
ness .     "  Who  are  talking  ? ' ' 

"Westervelt  —  the  whole  company."  He 
knew  his  sister  and  wished  he  had  not  spoken, 
but  he  added :  "  The  fellows  on  the  street  have 
noticed  it.  How  could  they  help  it  when  you 
walk  with  him  and  eat  with  him  and  ride  with 
him?" 

"Well?0  she  asked,  with  defiant  inflection. 
"What  is  to  follow?  Am  I  to  govern  my  life 
to  suit  Westervelt  or  the  street?  I  admire 
and  respect  Mr.  Douglass  very  much.  He 
has  more  than  one  side  to  him.  I  am  sick  of 
the  slang  of  the  Rialto  and  the  greenroom. 
I'm  tired  of  cheap  witticisms  and  of  gossip. 
With  Mr.  Douglass  I  can  discuss  calmly  and 

72 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

rationally  many  questions  which  trouble  me. 
He  helps  me.  To  talk  with  him  enables  me 
to  take  a  deep  breath  and  try  again.  He  en 
ables  me  to  forget  the  stage  for  a  few  hours." 

Hugh  remained  firm.  "But  there's  your 
own  question — what's  to  be  the  end  of  it? 
You  can't  do  this  without  getting  talked 
about." 

She  smiled,  and  the  glow  of  her  humor  dis 
armed  him.  "Sufficient  unto  the  end  is  the 
evil  thereof.  I  don't  think  you  need  to 
worry — ' ' 

Hugh  was  indeed  greatly  troubled.  He  be 
gan  to  dislike  and  suspect  Douglass.  They  had 
been  antipathetic  from  the  start,  and  no  ad 
vance  on  the  author's  part  could  bring  the 
manager  nearer.  It  was  indeed  true  that  the 
young  playwright  was  becoming  a  marked 
figure  on  the  street,  and  the  paragrapher  of 
The  Saucy  Swells  spoke  of  him  not  too  ob 
scurely  as  the  lucky  winner  of  "our  modern 
Helen,"  which  was  considered  a  smart  allu 
sion.  This  paragraph  was  copied  by  the  lead- 
73 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

ing  paper  of  his  native  city,  and  his  father 
wrote  to  know  if  it  were  really  true  that  he 
was  about  to  marry  a  play-actress. 

This  gave  a  distinct  shock  to  Douglass,  for 
it  made  definite  and  very  moving  the  vague 
dreams  which  had  possessed  him  in  his  hours 
of  reflection.  His  hands  clinched,  and  while 
his  heart  beat  fast  and  his  breath  shortened 
he  said :  "  Yes,  I  will  win  her  if  I  can"  ;  but  he 
was  not  elated.  The  success  of  his  play  was 
still  in  the  future,  and  till  he  had  won  his 
wreath  he  had  no  right  to  address  her  in  any 
terms  but  those  of  friendship. 

In  spite  of  the  flood  of  advance  notices  and 
personal  paragraphs,  in  spite  of  envious  gossip, 
he  lived  on  quietly  in  his  attic -room  at  the 
Roanoke.  He  had  few  friends  and  no  inti 
mates  in  the  city,  and  cared  little  for  the  social 
opportunities  which  came  to  him.  Confident 
of  success,  he  gave  up  his  connection  with 
The  Blazon,  whose  editor  valued  his  special 
articles  on  the  drama  so  much  as  to  pay  him 
handsomely  for  them.  The  editor  of  this 

74 


THE   LIGHT  OP  THE   STAR 

paper,  Mr.  Anderson,  his  most  intimate  ac 
quaintance,  was  of  the  Middle  West,  and  from 
the  first  strongly  admired  the  robust  thought 
of  the  young  architect  whose  " notions"  con 
cerning  the  American  drama  made  him  trouble 
among  his  fellow-craftsmen. 

"You're  not  an  architect,  you're  a  critic," 
he  said  to  him  early  in  their  accidental  ac 
quaintance.  "  Now,  I  want  to  experiment  on 
you.  I  want  you  to  see  Irving  to-night  and 
write  your  impressions  of  it.  I  have  a  notion 
you'll  startle  my  readers." 

He  did.  His  point  of  view,  so  modern,  so 
uncompromising,  so  unshaded  by  tradition, 
delighted  Anderson,  and  thereafter  he  was 
able  to  employ  the  young  playwright  regular 
ly.  These  articles  came  to  have  a  special 
value  to  the  thoughtful  "  artists"  of  the  stage, 
and  were  at  last  made  into  a  little  book, 
which  sold  several  hundred  copies,  besides 
bringing  him  to  the  notice  of  a  few  congenial 
cranks  and  come-outers  who  met  in  an  old 
tavern  far  down  in  the  old  city. 
6  75 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

These  articles — this  assumption  of  the  su 
perior  air  of  the  critic — led  naturally  to  the 
determination  to  write  a  play  to  prove  his 
theories,  and  now  that  the  play  was  written 
and  the  trial  about  to  be  made  his  anxiety 
to  win  the  public  was  very  keen.  He  had  a 
threefold  reason  for  toiling  like  mad — to  prove 
his  theories,  to  gain  bread,  and  to  win  Helen ; 
and  his  concentration  was  really  destructive. 
He  could  think  of  nothing  else.  All  his  corre 
spondence  ceased.  He  read  no  more ;  he  went 
no  more  to  his  club.  His  only  diversions 
were  the  rides  and  the  lunches  which  he  took 
with  Helen. 

With  her  in  the  park  he  was  a  man  trans 
formed.  His  heaviness  left  him.  His  tongue 
loosened,  and  together  they  rose  above  the 
toilsome  level  of  the  rehearsal  and  abandoned 
themselves  to  the  pure  joy  of  being  young. 
Together  they  visited  the  exhibitions  of  paint 
ing  and  sculpture,  and  to  Helen  these  after 
noons  were  a  heavenly  release  from  her  own 
world. 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

It  made  no  difference  to  her  who  objected 
to  her  friendship  with  Douglass.  After  years 
of  incredible  solitude  and  seclusion  and  hard 
work  in  the  midst  of  multitudes  of  admirers 
and  in  the  swift-beating  heart  of  cities,  with 
every  inducement  to  take  pleasure,  she  had 
remained  the  self-denying  student  of  acting. 
Her  summers  had  been  spent  in  England  or 
France,  where  she  saw  no  one  socially  and 
met  only  those  who  were  interested  in  her 
continued  business  success.  Now  she  aban 
doned  this  policy  of  reserve  and  permitted  her 
self  the  joys  of  a  young  girl  in  company  with 
a  handsome  and  honorable  man,  denying  her 
self  even  to  the  few. 

She  played  badly  during  these  three  weeks, 
and  Westervelt  was  both  sad  and  furious. 
Her  joyous  companionship  with  Douglass,  her 
work  on  his  sane  and  wholesome  drama,  their 
discussions  of  what  the  stage  should  be  and  do 
unfitted  her  for  the  factitious  parts  she  was 
playing. 

"  I  am  going  to  drop  all  of  these  characters 
77 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

into  the  nearest  abyss,"  she  repeated  each 
time  with  greater  intensity.  "  I  shall  never 
play  them  again  after  your  drama  is  ready. 
My  contract  with  Westervelt  has  really  ex 
pired  so  far  as  his  exclusive  control  over  me 
is  concerned,  and  I  will  not  be  coerced  into  a 
return  to  such  work." 

Her  eyes  were  opened  also  to  the  effect  of 
her  characters  on  the  audiences  that  assem 
bled  night  after  night  to  hear  her,  and  she  be 
gan  to  be  troubled  by  the  thousands  of  young 
girls  who  flocked  to  her  matinees.  "Is  it 
possible  that  what  I  call  'my  art'  is  debasing 
to  their  bright  young  souls?"  she  asked  her 
self.  "Is  Mr.  Douglass  right?  Am  I  re 
sponsible?" 

It  was  the  depression  of  these  moods  which 
gave  her  corresponding  elation  as  she  met  her 
lover's  clear,  calm  eyes  of  a  morning,  and 
walked  into  the  atmosphere  of  his  drama, 
whose  every  line  told  for  joy  and  right  living 
as  well  as  for  serious  art. 

Those  were  glorious  days  for  her — the  de- 

78 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

licious  surprise  of  her  surrender  came  back 
each  morning.  She  had  loved  once,  with  the 
sweet  single-heartedness  of  a  girl,  shaken  with 
sweet  and  yielding  joy  of  a  boyish  face  and  a 
slim  and  graceful  figure.  What  he  had  said 
she  could  not  remember;  what  he  was,  no 
longer  counted ;  but  what  that  love  had  been 
to  her  mattered  a  great  deal,  for  when  he 
passed  out  of  her  life  the  glow  of  his  worship 
remained  in  her  heart,  enabling  her  to  keep  a 
jealous  mastery  of  her  art  and  to  remain  un 
touched  by  the  admiration  of  those  who  sought 
her  favor  in  every  city  she  visited.  Douglass 
was  amazed  to  find  how  restricted  her  social 
circle  was.  Eagerly  sought  by  many  of  the 
great  drawing-rooms  of  the  city,  she  seldom 
went  to  even  the  house  of  a  friend. 

"  Her  art  is  a  jealous  master,"  her  intimates 
were  accustomed  to  say,  implying  that  she 
had  remained  single  in  order  that  she  might 
climb  higher  on  the  shining  ladder  of  fame, 
and  in  a  sense  this  was  true ;  but  she  was  not 
sordid  in  her  ambitions — she  was  a  child  of 
79 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

nature.  She  loved  rocks,  hills,  trees,  and 
clouds.  And  it  was  this  elemental  simplicity 
of  taste  which  made  Douglass  the  conquering 
hero  that  he  was.  She  felt  in  him  concrete, 
rugged  strength  and  honesty  of  purpose,  as 
wide  as  the  sky  from  the  polished  courtesy 
and  the  conventional  evasions  of  her  urban 
admirers. 

"No,  I  am  not  a  bit  in  society,"  she  con 
fessed,  in  answer  to  some  remark  from  him. 
"I  couldn't  give  up  my  time  and  strength  to 
it  if  I  wished,  and  I  don't  wish.  I'd  rather 
have  a  few  friends  in  for  a  quiet  little  evening 
after  the  play  than  go  to  the  swellest  recep 
tion." 

During  all  this  glorious  time  no  shadow  of 
approaching  failure  crossed  their  horizon.  The 
weather  might  be  cold  and  gray;  their  inner 
sky  remained  unspotted  of  any  vapor.  If  it 
rained,  they  lunched  at  the  hotel;  if  the  day 
was  clear  they,  ran  out  into  the  country  or 
through  the  park  in  delightful  comradeship, 
gay,  yet  thoughtful,  full  of  brisk  talk,  even 
80 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

argument,  but  not  on  the  drama.  She  had 
said,  "Once  for  all,  I  do  not  intend  to  talk 
shop  when  I  am  out  for  pleasure,"  and  he  re 
spected  her  wishes.  He  had  read  widely 
though  haphazardly,  and  his  memory  was 
tenacious,  and  all  he  had,  his  whole  mind,  his 
best  thought,  was  at  her  command  during 
those  hours  of  recreation. 

He  began  to  see  the  city  from  the  angle  of 
the  successful  man.  It  no  longer  menaced 
him;  he  even  began  to  dream  of  dominating 
it  by  sheer  force  of  genius.  When  at  her  side 
he  was  invincible.  Her  buoyant  nature  trans 
formed  him.  Her  faith,  her  joy  in  life  was  a 
steady  flame;  nothing  seemed  to  disturb  her 
or  make  her  afraid.  And  she  attributed  this 
strength,  this  joyous  calm,  to  his  innate  sense 
of  power — and  admired  him  for  it.  That  he 
drew  from  her,  relied  upon  her,  never  entered 
her  conception  of  their  relations  to  each 
other. 

Nevertheless,  as  the  play  was  nearing  its 
initial  production  the  critics  loomed  larger. 
81 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

Together  they  ran  over  the  list.  "There  is 
the  man  who  resembles  Shakespeare?"  she 
asked. 

"He  will  be  kindly." 

"And  the  fat  man  with  shifty  gray  eyes?" 
"He  will  slate  us,  unless— 
"  And  the  big  man  with  the  grizzled  beard?" 
"We'll  furnish  him  a  joke  or  two." 
"And  the  man  who  comes  in  on  crutches?" 
"He'll   slaughter   us;  he   hates   the   mod 
ern." 

"Then  the  man  who  looks  like  Lincoln?" 
"  He  is  on  our  side.     But  how  about  the 
man  with  the  waxed  mustache?" 
"He'll  praise  me." 

"And  slit  the  playwright's  ears.  Well,  I 
will  not  complain.  What  will  the  '  Free  Lance ' 
do — the  one  who  accepts  bribes  and  cares  for 
his  crippled  daughter  like  an  angel — what  will 
he  do?" 

"  Well,  that  depends.     Do  you  know  him?" 
"I  do  not,  and  don't  care  to.     That  ex 
hausts  the  list  of  the  notables;  the  rest  are 

82 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

bright  young  fellows  who  are  ready  to  wel 
come  a  good  thing.  Some  of  them  I  know 
slightly,  but  I  do  not  intend  to  do  one 
thing,  aside  from  my  work,  to  win  their  sup 
port." 

"That  is  right,  of  course.  Westervelt  may 
take  a  different  course."  And  in  this  con 
fident  way  they  approached  the  day  of 
trial. 

Westervelt,  watching  with  uneasy  eyes  the 
growing  intimacy  of  his  star  and  her  play 
wright,  began  to  hint  his  displeasure  to  Hugh, 
and  at  last  openly  to  protest.  "What  does 
she  mean?"  he  asked,  explosively.  "Does 
she  dream  of  marrying  the  man?  That 
would  be  madness !  Death !  Tell  her  so,  my 
boy." 

Hugh  concealed  his  own  anxiety.  "Oh, 
don't  worry,  they're  only  good  comrades." 

Westervelt  grunted  with  infinite  contempt. 
"Comrades!  If  he  is  not  making  love  to  her 
I'm  a  Greek." 

Hugh   was   much   more   uneasy   than   the 

83 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

manager,  but  he  had  more  sense  than  to  rush 
in  upon  his  famous  sister  with  a  demand. 
He  made  his  complaint  to  the  gentle  mother. 
"I  wish  she  would  drop  this  social  business 
with  Douglass.  He's  a  good  fellow,  but  she 
oughtn't  to  encourage  him  in  this  way. 
What's  the  sense  of  having  him  on  the  string 
every  blessed  afternoon?  Do  you  imagine 
she's  in  earnest?  What  does  she  mean?  It 
would  be  fatal  to  have  her  marry  anybody 
now — it  would  ruin  her  with  the  public.  Be 
sides,  Douglass  is  only  a  poor  grub  of  a  jour 
nalist,  and  a  failure  in  his  own  line  of  business. 
Can't  we  do  something?" 

The  mother  stood  in  awe  of  her  shining 
daughter  and  shook  her  head.  "She  is  old 
enough  to  know  her  own  mind,  Hugh.  I 
darena  speak  to  her.  Besides,  I  like  Mr. 
Douglass." 

"Yes,  he  won  you  by  claiming  Scotch 
blood.  I  don't  like  it.  She  is  completely 
absorbed  in  him.  All  I  can  hope  is  it  won't 
last." 

84 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

4 'If  she  loves  him  I  canna  interfere,  and 
if  she  doesna  there  is  no  need  to  interfere," 
replied  Mrs.  MacDavitt,  with  sententious 
wisdom. 


VII 

T  the  last  moment,  when  face 
to  face  with  the  public,  young 
Douglass  lost  courage.  The 
stake  for  which  he  played  was 
so  great!  Like  a  man  who 
has  put  his  last  dollar  upon  the  hazard,  he 
was  ready  to  snatch  his  gold  from  the  boards. 
The  whole  thing  seemed  weakly  tenuous  at 
dress-rehearsal,  and  Royleston,  half -drunk  as 
usual,  persistently  bungled  his  lines.  The 
children  in  the  second  act  squeaked  like 
nervous  poll-parrots,  and  even  Helen's  sun 
ny  brow  was  darkened  by  a  frown  as  her 
leading  man  stumbled  along  to  a  dead  halt 
again  and  again. 

86 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

"Mr.  Royleston,"  she  said,  with  dismay  and 
anger  in  her  voice,  "  I  beg  of  you  to  remember 
that  this  is  a  most  serious  matter." 

Her  tone  steadied  the  man,  for  he  was  a 
really  brilliant  and  famous  actor  beginning 
to  break.  He  grew  courtly.  "Miss  Merival, 
I  assure  you  I  shall  be  all  right  to-night." 

At  this  Douglass,  tense  and  hot,  shouted 
an  angry  word,  and  rushed  into  the  semi- 
darkness  of  the  side  aisle.  There  Helen 
found  him  when  she  came  off,  his  face  black 
with  anger  and  disgust.  "It's  all  off,"  he 
said.  "That  conceited  fool  will  ruin  us." 

"  Don't  take  things  too  seriously,"  she  plead 
ed.  "  Royleston  isn't  half  so  hopeless  as  he 
seems;  he  will  come  on  to-night  alert  as  a 
sparrow  and  astonish  you.  We  have  worked 
very  hard,  and  the  whole  company  needs  rest 
now  rather  than  more  drill.  To  show  your 
own  worry  would  make  them  worse  than 
they  are." 

In  the  end  he  went  back  to  his  seat  ashamed 
of  his  outburst  of  temper,  and  the  rehearsal 
87 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

came  to  an  end  almost  triumphantly,  due 
entirely  to  the  spirit  and  example  of  the  star, 
who  permitted  herself  to  act  for  the  first  time. 

It  was  a  marvellous  experience  to  see  her 
transformed,  by  the  mere  putting  aside  of  her 
cloak,  from  the  sweet-faced,  thoughtful  girl 
to  the  stern,  accusing,  dark,  and  tense  woman 
of  the  play.  Her  voice  took  on  the  quivering 
intonation  of  the  seeress,  and  her  spread  hand 
seemed  to  clutch  at  the  hearts  of  her  perfidi 
ous  friends.  At  such  moments  Douglass  sat 
entranced,  afraid  to  breathe  for  fear  of  break 
ing  the  spell,  and  when  she  dropped  her  role 
and  resumed  her  cloak  he  shivered  with  pain. 

It  hurt  him,  also,  to  have  her  say  to  Royle- 
ston:  "Now,  to-morrow  night  I  shall  be  here 
at  the  mirror  when  you  enter ;  I  will  turn  and 
walk  towards  you  till  I  reach  this  little  stand. 
I  will  move  around  this  to  the  right,"  etc.  It 
seemed  to  belittle  her  art,  to  render  it  me 
chanical,  and  yet  he  admitted  the  necessity; 
for  those  who  were  to  play  with  her  were  en 
titled  to  know,  within  certain  limits,  where  to 
88 


THE  LIGHT  OF   THE  STAR 

find  her  in  the  scene.  He  began  to  regret 
having  had  anything  to  do  with  the  rehearsal. 
It  would  have  been  so  much  more  splendid  to 
see  the  finished  product  of  her  art  with  no 
vexing  memory  of  the  prosaic  processes  of  its 
upbuilding. 

She  seemed  to  divine  his  feelings,  and  ex 
plained:  "Up  to  a  certain  point  every  art  is 
mechanical;  the  outlines  of  my  acting  are 
fixed,  but  within  those  limits  I  am  guided  by 
impulse.  Even  if  I  dared  to  rely  on  the  in 
spiration  of  the  moment  my  support  cannot; 
they  must  know  what  I  am  going  to  do.  I 
sincerely  wish  now  that  you  had  left  us  to  our 
struggle;  and  yet  we've  had  a  good  time, 
haven't  we?" 

"The  best  of  my  whole  life,"  he  answered, 
fervently. 

"  Now,  let's  rest.  Let's  go  to  the  opera  to 
night,  for  to-morrow  I  cannot  see  you — no, 
nor  Monday,  either.  I  shall  remain  in  seclu 
sion  all  day  in  a  darkened  room.  I  must 
think  my  part  all  out  alone.  There  in  the 
89 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

dark  I  shall  sleep  as  much  as  possible.  Helen's 
*  unconscious  cerebration '  must  now  get  in  its 
work,"  she  ended,  laughingly. 

They  all  dined  together  at  her  table,  and 
sat  together  in  the  box,  while  the  vast  har 
monies  of  Siegfried  rose  like  sun -shot  mist 
from  beneath  them. 

Helen  was  rapt,  swept  out  of  herself;  and 
Douglass,  with  delicate  consideration,  left  her 
alone  with  her  musings,  whose  depth  and  in 
tensity  appeared  in  the  lines  of  her  sensitive 
face.  He  had  begun  to  understand  the  sources 
of  her  power — that  is  to  say,  her  fluid  and  in 
stant  imagination  which  permitted  her  to  share 
in  the  joy  of  every  art.  Under  the  spell  of  a 
great  master  she  was  able  to  divine  the  pas 
sion  which  directed  him.  She  understood  the 
sense  of  power,  the  supreme  ease  and  dignity 
of  Ternina,  of  De  Reszke,  just  as  she  was  able 
to  partake  in  the  pride  of  the  great  athlete 
who  wrestled  upon  the  mat.  She  touched 
life  through  her  marvellous  intuition  at  a  hun 
dred  points. 

90 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

He  was  not  discouraged,  therefore,  when, 
as  they  were  going  out,  she  said,  with  a  quick 
clasp  of  her  hand  on  his  arm,  "  This  matchless 
music  makes  our  venture  seem  very  small." 
He  understood  her  mood,  and  to  a  lesser  de 
gree  shared  it. 

11 1  don't  want  to  talk,"  she  said  at  the  door 
of  her  carriage.  "  Good-bye  till  Monday  night. 
Courage!" 


VIII 

[EPRIVATION  of  Helen's  com 
panionship  even  for  a  day  pro 
duced  in  Douglass  such  longing 
that  his  hours  were  misery, 
and,  though  Sunday  was  long 
and  lonely,  Monday  stretched  to  an  intoler 
able  length.  He  became  greatly  disturbed, 
and  could  neither  work  nor  sit  still,  so  active 
was  his  imagination.  He  tried  to  sleep,  but 
could  not,  even  though  his  nerves  were 
twitching  for  want  of  it;  and  at  last,  in  des 
perate  resolution,  he  set  himself  the  task  of 
walking  to  Grant's  tomb  and  back,  in  the 
hope  that  physical  weariness  would  benumb 
his  restless  brain.  This  good  result  followed. 

92 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

He  was  in  deep  slumber  when  the  bell-boy 
rapped  at  his  door  and  called,  "  Half -past  six, 
sir." 

He  sprang  up,  moved  by  the  thought,  "In 
two  hours  Helen  will  be  entering  upon  that 
first  great  scene,"  and  for  the  first  time  gave 
serious  consideration  to  the  question  of  an 
audience.  "  I  hope  Westervelt  has  neglected 
nothing.  It  would  be  shameful  if  Helen 
played  to  a  single  empty  seat.  I  will  give 
tickets  away  on  the  sidewalk  rather  than  have 
it  so.  But,  good  Heavens,  such  a  condition  is 
impossible !' ' 

After  dressing  with  great  care,  he  hastened 
directly  to  the  theatre.  It  was  early,  and  as 
he  stepped  into  the  entrance  he  found  only 
the  attendants,  smiling,  expectant,  in  their 
places.  A  doubt  of  success  filled  him  with 
sudden  weakness,  and  he  slipped  out  on  the 
street  again,  not  caring  to  be  recognized  by 
any  one  at  that  hour.  "They  will  laugh  at 
my  boyish  excitement,"  he  said,  shamefacedly. 

Broadway,  the  chief  thoroughfare  of  the 
93 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

pleasure-seekers  of  all  America,  was  just  be 
ginning  to  thicken  with  life.  The  cafes  were 
sending  forth  gayly  dressed  groups  of  diners 
jovially  crowding  into  their  waiting  carriages. 
Automobiles  and  cabs  were  rushing  northward 
to  meet  the  theatre-goers  of  the  up-town 
streets,  while  the  humbler  patrons  of  the 
" family  circles"  and  "galleries"  of  the  play 
houses  lower  down  were  moving  southward 
on  foot,  sharing  for  a  few  moments  in  the 
brilliancy  and  wealth  of  the  upper  avenue. 
The  surface  cars,  clamorous,  irritable,  and 
timid,  jammed  at  the  crossings  like  sheep  at 
a  river-ford,  while  overhead  the  electric  trains 
thundered  to  and  fro,  crowded  with  other 
citizens  also  theatre-bound.  It  seemed  that 
the  whole  metropolis,  alert  to  the  drama,  had 
flung  its  health  and  wealth  into  one  narrow 
stream,  and  yet,  "in  all  these  thousands  of 
careless  citizens,  who  thinks  of  Lillian's 
Duty  ?"  thought  the  unnerved  playwright. 

"What  do  these  laughing,  insatiate  amuse 
ment-seekers   care   about   any  one's   duty? 

94 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

They  are  out  to  enjoy  life.  They  are  the  well- 
to-do,  the  well-fed,  the  careless  livers.  Many 
of  them  are  keen,  relentless  business  -  men 
wearied  by  the  day's  toil.  They  are  now  seek 
ing  relaxation,  and  not  at  all  concerned  with 
acquiring  wisdom  or  grace.  They  are,  indeed, 
the  very  kind  of  men  to  whom  my  play  sets 
the  cold  steel,  and  their  wives,  of  higher  pur 
pose,  of  gentler  wills,  are,  nevertheless,  quite 
as  incapable  of  steady  and  serious  thought. 
Not  one  of  them  has  any  interest  in  the  prob 
lem  I  have  set  myself  to  delineate." 

He  was  saved  from  utter  rout  by  remem 
brance  of  Helen.  He  recalled  the  Wondrous 
Woman  as  she  had  seemed  to  him  of  old, 
striving  to  regain  his  former  sense  of  her  pow 
er,  her  irresistible  fascination.  He  assured 
himself  that  her  indirect  influence  over  the 
city  had  been  proven  to  be  enormous,  almost 
fantastic,  though  her  worshippers  knew  the 
real  woman  not  at  all,  allured  only  by  the 
aureoled  actress.  Yes,  she  would  triumph, 
even  if  the  play  failed,  for  they  would  see  her 
95 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

at  last  in  a  congenial  role  wherein  her  nobility, 
her  intellectual  power  would  be  given  full  and 
free  expression.  Her  appeal  to  her  worship 
pers  would  be  doubled. 

When  he  returned  to  the  theatre  a  throng 
of  people  filled  the  entrance-way,  and  he  was 
emboldened  to  pass  in — even  bowed  to  the 
attendants  and  to  Hugh,  who  stood  in  the 
lobby,  in  shining  raiment,  a  boutonni&re  in 
his  coat,  his  face  radiating  confidence  and 
pride. 

"We've  got  'em  coming,"  he  announced, 
with  glee.  "We  are  all  sold  out — not  a  seat 
left,  and  only  the  necessary  'paper'  out. 
They're  curious  to  see  her  in  a  new  role.  You 
are  made!" 

"  I  hope  so,"  replied  the  playwright,  weakly. 
"Tuesday  night  tells  the  story." 

Hugh  laughed.  "Why,  man,  I  believe 
you're  scared.  We're  all  right.  I  can  sniff 
victory  in  the  air." 

This  confidence,  so  far  from  inspiriting 
Douglass,  still  further  depressed  him,  and  he 
96 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

passed  in  and  on  up  into  the  second  gallery, 
where  he  had  privately  purchased  a  reserved 
seat  with  intent  to  sense  for  himself  the  feeling 
of  the  upper  part  of  the  house  during  the  first 
act.  Keeping  his  muffler  pinned  close  so  that 
his  evening  dress  escaped  notice,  he  found  his 
way  down  to  the  railing  quite  secure  from 
recognition  by  any  one  at  the  peep-hole  of  the 
curtain  or  in  the  boxes,  and  there  took  his 
seat  to  watch  the  late-comers  ripple  down  the 
aisles.  He  was  experienced  enough  to  know 
that  "  first-nighters  "  do  not  always  count  and 
that  they  are  sometimes  false  prophets,  and 
yet  he  could  not  suppress  a  growing  exalta 
tion  as  the  beautiful  auditorium  filled  with 
men  and  women  such  as  he  had  himself  often 
called  "representative,"  and,  best  of  all,  many 
of  the  city's  artists  and  literarians  were  pres 
ent. 

He  knew  also  that  the  dramatic  critics  were 

assembling,  jaded   and    worn   with  ceaseless 

attendance  on  worthless  dramas,  a  condition 

which  should  have  fitted  them  for  the  keener 

97 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

enjoyment  of  any  fresh,  original  work,  but  he 
did  not  deceive  himself.  He  knew  from  their 
snarling  onslaughts  on  plays  he  had  praised 
that  they  were  not  to  be  pleased  with  any 
thing — at  least  not  all  of  them  at  the  same 
time.  That  they  were  friendly  to  Helen  he 
knew,  that  they  would  praise  her  he  was  as 
sured,  but  that  they  would  " slate"  his  play 
he  was  beginning  to  find  inevitable. 

As  the  curtain  rose  on  the  first  scene  he  felt 
the  full  force  of  Helen's  words,  "You  won't 
enjoy  the  performance  at  all."  He  began  now 
to  pay  for  the  joy  he  had  taken  in  her  com 
panionship.  He  knew  the  weakness  of  every 
actor,  and  suffered  with  them  and  for  them. 
Royleston  from  the  first  tortured  him  by  mum 
bling  his  lines,  palpably  "faking"  at  times. 
"  The  idiot,  he'll  fail  to  give  his  cues !"  muttered 
Douglass.  "He'll  ruin  the  play."  The  chil 
dren  scared  him  also,  they  were  so  important 
to  Helen  at  the  close  of  the  act. 

At  last  the  star  came  on — so  quietly  that 
the  audience  did  not  at  the  moment  recognize 
98 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

her,  but  when  those  nearest  the  stage  started 
a  greeting  to  her  it  was  taken  up  all  over  the 
shining  house — a  magnificent  "  hand." 

Never  before  had  Helen  Merival  appeared 
before  an  audience  in  character  so  near  her 
own  good  self,  and  the  lovely  simplicity  of 
her  manner  came  as  a  revelation  to  those  of 
her  admirers  who  had  longed  to  know  more 
of  her  private  character.  For  several  minutes 
they  applauded  while  she  smilingly  bowed, 
but  at  last  the  clapping  died  away,  and  each 
auditor  shrugged  himself  into  an  easy  posture 
in  his  chair,  waiting  for  the  great  star  to  take 
up  her  role. 

This  she  did  with  a  security  and  repose  of 
manner  which  thrilled  Douglass  in  spite  of  his 
intimate  knowledge  of  her  work  at  rehearsals. 
The  subtlety  of  her  reading,  the  quiet,  con 
trolled  precision  and  grace  of  her  action  re 
stored  his  confidence  in  her  power.  "  She  has 
them  in  her  hand.  She  cannot  fail." 

The  act  closed  triumphantly,  though  some 
among  the  audience  began  to  wince.  Helen 
99 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

came  before  the  curtain  several  times,  and 
each  time  with  eyes  that  searched  for  some 
one,  and  Douglass  knew  with  definiteness  that 
she  sought  her  playwright  in  order  that  she 
might  share  her  triumph  with  him.  But  a 
perverse  mood  had  seized  him.  "This  is  all 
very  well,  but  wait  till  the  men  realize  the 
message  of  the  play,"  he  muttered,  and  lifted 
the  programme  to  hide  his  face. 

A  buzz  of  excited  comment  rose  from  be 
low,  and  though  he  could  not  hear  a  word  be 
yond  the  water-boy's  call  he  was  able  to 
imagine  the  comment. 

"  Why,  how  lovely !  I  didn't  suppose  Helen 
Merival  could  do  a  sweet,  domestic  thing  like 
that." 

"  Isn't  her  gown  exquisite?  I've  heard  she 
is  a  dainty  dresser  in  real  life,  quite  removed 
from  the  kind  of  thing  she  wears  on  the  stage. 
I  wish  she  were  not  so  seclusive.  I'd  like  to 
know  her." 

"  But  do  you  suppose  this  is  her  real  self?" 

"  It  must  be.  She  doesn't  seem  to  be  act- 
100 


THE  LIGHT,  OR ' 

ing  at  all.  I  must  say  I  prefer  her  in  her  usual 
parts." 

"She's  wonderful  as  The  Baroness." 

"  I  never  let  my  daughters  see  her  in  those 
dreadful  characters — they  are  too  bold;  but 
they  are  both  here  to-night.  I  understood  it 
was  to  be  quite  a  departure." 

Douglass,  knowing  well  that  Hugh  and  the 
manager  were  searching  for  him,  sat  with  face 
bent  low  until  the  lights  were  again  lowered. 
"Now  comes  the  first  assault.  Now  we  will 
see  them  wince." 

The  second  act  was  distinctly  less  pleasing 
to  those  who  sat  below  him  in  the  orchestra 
and  dress  circle.  Applause  was  still  hearty, 
but  it  lacked  the  fervor  of  the  first  act.  He 
could  see  men  turn  and  whisper  to  one  an 
other  now  and  then.  They  laughed,  of  course, 
and  remarked  each  to  the  other,  "  Brown, 
you're  getting  a  'slat'  to-night." 

"They  are  cheering  the  actress,  not  the 
play,"  observed  the  author. 

The  gallery,  less  sensitive  or  more  genu- 
101 


THE   UGHT  QF,  THE  STAR 

inely  patriotic,  thundered  on,  applauding  the 
lines  as  well  as  the  growing  power  of  Helen's 
impersonation.  Royleston  was  at  last  begin 
ning  to  play,  the  fumes  of  his  heavy  dinner  hav 
ing  cleared  away.  He  began  to  grip  his  lines, 
and  that  gave  the  star  her  first  opportunity 
to  forget  his  weakness  and  throw  herself  into 
her  part.  All  in  all,  only  a  very  discriminat 
ing  ear  could  have  detected  a  falling -off  of 
favor  in  this  act.  The  curtain  was  lifted  four 
times,  and  a  few  feeble  cries  for  the  author 
were  heard,  chiefly  from  the  first  balcony. 

Here  was  the  point  whereat  his  hoped-for 
triumph  was  to  have  begun,  but  it  did  not. 
He  was  touched  by  an  invisible  hand  which 
kept  him  to  his  seat,  though  he  knew  that 
Helen  was  waiting  for  him  to  receive,  hand -in- 
hand  with  her,  the  honors  of  the  act. 

Some  foreknowledge  of  defeat  clarified  the 
young  author's  vision,  and  a  bitter  melancholy 
crept  over  him  as  the  third  act  unrolled. 
"They  will  go  out,"  he  said  to  himself,  "and 
they  will  not  come  back  for  the  last  act.  The 
102 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

play  is  doomed  to  disaster."  And  a  flame  of 
hatred  rose  in  his  heart  against- the  audience. 
"They  are  brutes!"  he  muttered. 

The  scenes  were  deeply  exciting,  the  clash 
of  interest  upon  interest  was  swift,  novel 
in  sequence,  and  most  dramatic  in  outcome, 
but  the  applause  was  sharp  and  spasmodic, 
not  long  continued  and  hearty  as  before. 
Some  of  the  men  who  had  clapped  loudest  at 
the  opening  now  sat  gnawing  their  mustaches 
in  sullen  resentment. 

Douglass  divined  their  thought:  "This  is  a 
confidence  game.  We  came  to  be  amused, 
and  this  fellow  instructs  in  sociology.  We 
didn't  cough  up  two  dollars  to  listen  to  a  ser 
mon  ;  we  came  to  be  rested.  There's  trouble 
enough  in  the  street  without  displaying  it  in 
a  place  of  amusement.  The  fellow  ought  to 
be  cut  out." 

Others  ceased  to  cheer  because  both  acting 
and  play  had  mounted  beyond  their  under 
standing.  Its  grim  humor,  its  pitiless  char 
acter-drawing,  wearied  them.  Audience  and 
103 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

play,  speaking  generally,  were  at  cross-pur 
poses.  A  minority,  it  was  true,  caught  every 
point,  shouting  with  great  joy,  and  a  few,  who 
disapproved  of  the  play,  but  were  most  de 
voted  admirers  of  Helen's  art,  joined  half 
heartedly  in  their  applause.  But  the  act 
closed  dismally,  notwithstanding  its  tremen 
dous  climax.  A  chill  east  wind  had  swept 
over  the  auditorium  and  a  few  sensitive  souls 
shivered.  ''What  right  has  Helen  Merival  to 
do  a  thing  like  this?  What  possesses  her? 
It  must  be  true  that  she  is  infatuated  with  this 
young  man  and  produces  his  dreadful  plays 
to  please  him." 

"They  say  she  is  carried  away  with  him. 
He's  very  handsome,  they  tell  me.  I  wish 
they'd  call  him  out." 

A  buzz  of  complaining  talk  on  the  part  of 
those  aggrieved  filled  in  the  interlude.  The 
few  who  believed  in  the  drama  were  valiant  in 
its  defence,  but  their  arguments  did  not  add 
to  the  good -will  of  those  who  loved  the  actress 
but  detested  the  play. 
104 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE    STAR 

"This  won't  do,"  said  the  most  authorita 
tive  critic,  as  a  detachment  lined  up  at  the  bar 
of  the  neighboring  saloon.  "Merival  must 
lop  off  this  young  dramatist  or  he'll  'queer' 
her  with  her  best  friends.  She  mustn't  at 
tempt  to  force  this  kind  of  thing  down  our 
throats." 

"He  won't  last  a  week,"  said  another. 

Their  finality  of  tone  resembled  that  of 
emperors  and  sultans  in  counsel. 

Douglass,  sitting  humped  and  motionless 
among  his  gallery  auditors,  was  clearly  aware 
that  Helen  was  weary  and  agitated,  yet  he  re 
mained  in  his  seat,  his  brain  surging  with  re 
bellious  passion. 

His  perverse  pride  was  now  joined  by  shame, 
who  seized  him  by  the  other  arm  and  held  him 
prisoner.  He  felt  like  fleeing  down  the  fire- 
escape.  The  thought  of  running  the  gantlei 
of  the  smirking  attendants,  the  possibility  of 
meeting  some  of  the  exultant  dramatic  critics, 
most  of  whom  were  there  to  cut  him  to  pieces, 
revolted  him.  Their  joyous  grins  were  harder 
105 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

to  face  than  cannon,  therefore  he  cowered  in 
his  place  during  the  long  wait,  his  mind  awhirl, 
his  teeth  set  hard. 

There  were  plenty  of  empty  seats  in  the 
orchestra  when  the  curtain  lifted  on  the  last 
act.  Several  of  the  critics  failed  to  return. 
The  playwright  dared  not  look  at  his  watch, 
for  the  scenes  were  dragging  interminably. 
His  muscles  ached  with  the  sort  of  fatigue  one 
feels  when  riding  in  a  slow  train,  and  he  de 
tected  himself  pushing  with  his  feet  as  if  to 
hurry  the  action.  The  galleries  did  not  dis 
play  an  empty  bench,  but  he  took  small  com 
fort  in  this,  for  he  was  not  a  believer  in  the 
old-time  theory  of  pleasing  the  gallery.  "  In 
this  city  the  two-dollar  seats  must  be  filled, " 
he  said.  "  Helen  is  ruined  if  she  loses 
them." 

He  began  to  pity  her  and  to  blame  himself. 
"What  right  had  I  to  force  my  ferocious 
theories  upon  her?"  he  asked  himself,  and  at 
the  moment  it  seemed  that  he  had  completely 
destroyed  her  prestige.  She  was  plainly  dis- 
106 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

pirited,  and  her  auditors  looked  at  one  an 
other  in  astonishment.  "  Can  this  sad  woman 
in  gray,  struggling  with  a  cold  audience  and  a 
group  of  dismayed  actors,  be  the  brilliant  and 
beautiful  Helen  Merival?" 

That  a  part  of  this  effect — most  of  it,  in 
fact — lay  in  the  role  of  Lillian  they  had  not 
penetration  enough  to  distinguish ;  they  began 
to  doubt  whether  she  had  ever  been  the  very 
great  success  and  the  powerful  woman  they 
had  supposed  her  to  be. 

The  play  did  not  really  close,  the  audience 
began  to  dribble  out  before  the  last  half  of  the 
act  began,  and  the  curtain  went  down  on  the 
final  scene  while  scores  of  women  were  put 
ting  on  their  wraps.  A  loyal  few  called 
Helen  before  the  curtain,  and  her  brave 
attempt  to  smile  made  every  friendly  heart 
bleed. 

Douglass,   stiff  and  sore,  as  one  who  has 

been  cudgelled,   rose    with    the    crowd    and 

made  his   way  to   one   of  the   outside  exits, 

eager  to  escape  recognition,  to  become  one 

s  107 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

of  the  indistinguishable  figures  of  the 
street. 

A  couple  of  tousled-headed  students  going 
down  the  stairway  before  him  tossed  him  his 
first  and  only  crumb  of  comfort.  "It  won't 
go,  of  course,"  said  one,  in  a  tone  of  con 
viction,  "but  it's  a  great  play  all  the 
same." 

"Right,  old  man,"  replied  the  other,  with 
the  decision  of  a  master.  "  It's  too  good  for 
this  town.  What  New  York  wants  is  a  con 
tinuous  variety  show." 

Douglass  knew  keenly,  deeply,  that  Helen 
needed  him — was  looking  for  him — but  the 
thought  of  those  who  would  be  near  at  their 
meeting  made  his  entrance  of  the  stage  door 
impossible.  He  walked  aimlessly,  drifting 
with  the  current  up  the  street,  throbbing, 
tense,  and  hot  with  anger,  shame,  and  despair. 
At  the  moment  all  seemed  lost — his  play,  his 
own  position,  and  Helen.  Helen  would  sure 
ly  drop  him.  The  incredible  had  happened — 
he  had  not  merely  defeated  himself,  he  had 
1 08 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

brought  battle  and  pain  and  a  stinging  re 
proof  to  a  splendid,  triumphant  woman.  The 
enormous  egotism  involved  in  this  he  did 
not  at  the  moment  apprehend.  He  was  like 
a  wounded  animal,  content  merely  to  es 
cape. 

He  longed  to  reach  her,  to  beg  her  pardon, 
to  absolve  her  from  any  promise,  and  yet  he 
could  not  face  Wester velt.  He  revolted  at 
the  thought  of  meeting  Royleston  and  Miss 
Carmichael  and  Hugh.  "  No ;  it  is  impossible. 
I  will  wait  for  her  at  the  hotel." 

At  this  word  he  was  filled  with  a  new  terror. 
"The  clerks  and  the  bell-boys  will  have  learned 
of  my  failure.  I  cannot  face  them  to-night." 
And  he  turned  and  fled  as  if  confronted  by 
serpents.  "And  yet  I  must  send  a  message. 
I  must  thank  Helen  and  set  her  free.  She 
must  not  go  through  another  such  night  for 
my  sake." 

He  ended  by  dropping  into  another  hotel 
to  write  her  a  passionate  note,  which  he  sent 
by  a  messenger: 

109 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

"  Forgive  me  for  the  part  I  have  played  in 
bringing  this  disaster  upon  you.  I  had  no 
idea  that  anything  I  could  say  or  do  would  so 
deeply  injure  you — you  the  Wondrous  One. 
It  was  incredible — their  disdain  of  you.  I 
was  a  fool,  a  selfish  boaster,  to  allow  you  to 
go  into  this  thing.  The  possible  loss  of  money 
we  both  discussed,  but  that  any  words  of 
mine  could  injure  you  as  an  artist  never  came 
to  me.  Believe  me,  my  dearest  friend,  I  am 
astounded.  I  am  crushed  with  the  thought, 
and  I  dare  not  show  my  face  among  your 
friends.  I  feel  like  an  assassin.  I  will  call 
to-morrow  —  I  can't  do  it  to-night.  I  am 
bleeding  at  the  heart  because  I  have  made  you 
share  the  shame  and  failure  which  I  feel  to 
night  are  always  to  be  mine.  I  was  born  to 
be  of  the  minority.  Please  don't  give  another 
thought  to  me  01  my  play.  Go  your  own 
way.  Get  back  to  the  plays  that  please  people. 
Be  happy.  You  have  the  right  to  be  happy, 
and  I  am  a  selfish,  unthinking  criminal  whom 
you  would  better  forget.  Don't  waste  an 
no 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

other  dollar  or  another  moment  on  my  play — 
it  is  madness.  I  am  overwhelmed  with  my 
debt  to  you,  but  I  shall  repay  it  some  day." 


IX 


ELEN  was  more  deeply  hurt 
and  humiliated  by  her  play 
wright's  flight  than  by  the  ap 
parent  failure  of  the  play,  but 
the  two  experiences  coming  to 
gether  fairly  stunned  her.  To  have  the  cur 
tain  go  down  on  her  final  scenes  to  feeble 
and  hesitating  applause  was  a  new  and  pain 
ful  experience.  Never  since  her  first  public 
reading  had  she  failed  to  move  and  interest 
her  audience.  What  had  happened?  What 
had  so  swiftly  weakened  her  hold  on  her  ad 
mirers?  Up  to  that  moment  she  had  been 
sure  that  she  could  make  any  character  suc 
cessful. 

112 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

For  a  few  moments  she  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  stage  stifling  with  a  sense  of  mortifica 
tion  and  defeat,  then  turned,  and  without  a 
word  or  look  to  any  one  went  to  her  dressing- 
room. 

Her  maid  was  deeply  sympathetic,  and  by 
sudden  impulse  stooped  and  kissed  her  cheek, 
saying,  "  Never  mind,  Miss  Merival,  it  was 
beautiful." 

This  unexpected  caress  brought  the  tears 
to  the  proud  girl's  eyes.  "Thank  you,  Nora. 
Some  of  the  audience  will  agree  with  you,  I 
hope." 

"I'm  sure  of  it,  miss.  Don't  be  down 
cast." 

Hugh  knocked  at  the  door.  "Can  you 
come  out?" 

"  Not  now,  Hugh.     In  a  few  moments." 

"There  are  some  people  here  to  see  you — " 

She  wanted  to  say,  "I  don't  want  to  see 
them,"  but  she  only  said,  "Please  ask  them 
to  wait." 

She  knew  by  the  tone  of  her  brother's  voice 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

that  he,  too,  was  choking  with  indignation,  and 
she  dreaded  the  meeting  with  him  and  with 
Westervelt.  She  was  sustained  by  the  hope 
that  Douglass  would  be  there  to  share  her 
punishment.  "Why  had  he  not  shown  him 
self?"  she  asked  again,  with  growing  resent 
ment. 

When  she  came  out  fully  dressed  she  looked 
tired  and  pale,  but  her  head  was  high  and  her 
manner  proudly  self-contained. 

Westervelt,  surrounded  by  a  small  group 
of  depressed  auditors,  among  whom  were  Mrs. 
MacDavitt,  Hugh,  and  Royleston,  was  hold 
ing  forth  in  a  kind  of  bellow.  "It  proves 
what?  Simply  that  they  will  not  have  her 
in  these  preachy  domestic  parts,  that's  all. 
Every  time  she  tries  it  she  gets  a  'knock.'  I 
complain,  I  advise  to  the  contrary.  Does  it 
do  any  good?  No.  She  must  chance  it,  all 
to  please  this  crank,  this  reformer." 

The  mother,  reading  the  disappointment 
and  suffering  in  Helen's  white  face,  reached 
for  her  tremulously  and  drew  her  to  her  bos- 

114 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

om.  "Never  mind  what  they  say,  Nellie;  it 
was  beautiful  and  it  was  true." 

Even  Westervelt  was  awed  by  the  calm  look 
Helen  turned  on  the  group.  "You  are  very 
sure  of  yourself,  Mr.  Westervelt,  but  to  my 
mind  this  night  only  proves  that  this  audi 
ence  came  to  hear  me  without  intelligent  de 
sign."  She  faced  the  silent  group  with  white 
and  weary  face.  "Certainly  Mr.  Douglass's 
play  is  not  for  such  an  audience  as  that  which 
has  been  gathering  to  see  me  as  The  Baron 
ess,  but  that  does  not  mean  that  I  have  no 
other  audience.  There  is  a  public  for  me  in 
this  higher  work.  If  there  isn't,  I  will  retire." 

Westervelt  threw  his  hands  in  the  air  with 
a  tragic  gesture.  "Retire!  My  Gott,  that 
would  be  insanity!" 

Helen  turned.  "Come,  mother,  you  are 
tired,  and  so  am  I.  Mr.  Westervelt,  this  is  no 
place  for  this  discussion.  Good -night."  She 
bowed  to  the  friends  who  had  loyally  gathered 
to  greet  her.  "  I  am  grateful  to  you  for  your 
sympathy." 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

There  was,  up  to  this  time,  no  word  of  the 
author;  but  Hugh,  as  he  walked  by  her  side, 
broke  out  resentfully,  "Do  you  know  that 
beggar  playwright — " 

"Not  a  word  of  him,  Hugh,"  she  said. 
"You  don't  know  what  that  poor  fellow  is 
suffering.  Our  disappointment  is  nothing  in 
comparison  with  his.  Think  of  what  he  has 
tost." 

"Nonsense!  He  has  lost  nothing,  because 
he  had  nothing  to  lose.  He  gets  us  in 
volved—" 

"Hugh!"  There  was  something  in  her  ut 
terance  of  his  name  which  silenced  him  more 
effectually  than  a  blow.  "I  produced  this 
play  of  my  own  free  will,"  she  added,  a  moment 
later,  "  and  I  will  take  the  responsibility  of  it." 

In  the  carriage  the  proud  girl  leaned  back 
against  the  cushions,  and  pressed  her  two 
hands  to  her  aching  eyes,  from  which  the  tears 
streamed.  It  was  all  so  tragically  different 
from  their  anticipations.  They  were  to  have 
had  a  little  supper  of  jubilation  together,  to 
116 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

talk  it  all  over,  to  review  the  evening's  tri 
umph,  and  now  here  she  sat  chill  with  disap 
pointment,  while  he  was  away  somewhere  in 
the  great,  heartless  city  suffering  tortures, 
alone  and  despairing. 

The  sweet,  old  mother  put  her  arm  about 
her  daughter's  waist. 

"Don't  cry,  dearie;  it  will  all  come  right. 
You  can  endure  one  failure.  'Tis  not  as  bad 
as  it  seems." 

Helen  did  not  reply  as  she  was  tempted  to 
do  by  saying,  "It  isn't  my  defeat,  it  is  his 
failure  to  stand  beside  me  and  receive  his 
share  of  the  disaster."  And  they  rode  the 
rest  of  the  way  in  sad  silence. 

As  she  entered  her  room  a  maid  handed  her 
a  letter  which  she  knew  to  be  from  Douglass 
even  before  she  saw  the  handwriting,  and, 
without  opening  it,  passed  on  into  her  room. 
"His  message  is  too  sacred  for  any  other  to 
see,"  she  said  to  herself,  with  instant  appre 
hension  of  the  bitter  self  -  accusation  with 
which  he  had  written. 

117 


THE    LIGHT   OF   THE   STAR 

The   sutTerir  ;    ,  \--vssed   by    tho   scrawling 
hncs  softened  her  heart,  her  anger  dial  away, 
and  only  big  tears  of  pity  filled  her  glorious 
Poor    boy!     His    heart    is    broken." 
And  a  deshv  "ort  him  swelled  her  bosom 

fa  a  passion  almost  maternal  in  its  dignity. 
Now  that  his  pride  was  humbled,  his  strong 
figure  bowed,  his  elear  brain  in  turmoil,  her 
woman's  tenderness  sought  him  and  embniecd 
him  without  shame  Her  own  strength  and 
resolution  eame  baek  to  her.  "  I  will  save  you 
from  yourself."  she  said,  softly. 

When  she  returned  to  the  reception-room 

found  Wcstcrvclt  and  Hugh 
of  the  leading  aetors  ^who  took  the  evening's 
"frost"  as  a  reflection  on  themselves,  an  in 
jury    to    their    reputations),    all    in    exeital 
clamor;   but  w'  v  saw  their  star  enter 

they  fell  silent,  atul  Westervelt.  sweating  with 
•lenient,  turned  to  meet  her. 
You  must  tiot  go  on.    It  is  not  the  money 
•11  ruin  you  with  the  public.     It  is 
not  for  -  lecture  the  people.     They  will 

ill 


TUB    LIGHT   Ol?   TUB    STAR 

not,  have  it.  Such  a  failure  I  have  never  seen. 
1 1,  was  IK  >t  a  '  fr<  >st./  it  was  a  I X  >/.en  s<  »lid.  We 
will  announce  I  he  Ihirinn'ss  for  to  morrow. 
The  pressmen  are  waiting  below.  I  shall  tell 
them?"  His  voice  rose  in  question. 

44  Mr.  Western-It,   this,  is  my  answer,  and   it 
is   final.      1    will   not,   take   the   play   oil,   and    I 
shall  expert,  you   to  work    with   your  best  en 
etyy    t<  >   make    it,  a.   success.      One    mjdit   (Iocs 
not  prove  Lillian  a  failure.      The  audience  to 
ni^ht  was  not  up  to  it.,  but  tha I,  condemns  the 
auditors,  not  the  play.      I  do  not,  wish  to  hear 
any   more  argument.      (  iood  niHit." 

The     astounded     and    'crestfallen     manager 
bowed   his.  head  and   went  <  HI! 

Helen  turned  to  the  other:;.  "I  am  tired 
of  this  discussion.  ( )ne  would  think  the  sky 
had  fallen  from  all  this  tumult,.  I  am  sorry 
for  you,  Mr.  Koyleston,  but  you  are  no  deeper 
in  the  slouj-.h  than  Miss,  Collins,  and  the  rest, 
and  they  are  not  complaining.  Now  let  us 
sit  down  to  our  supper  and  talk  of  some 
thini',  else 

IK) 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

Royleston  excused  himself  and  went  away, 
and  only  Hugh,  Miss  Collins,  Miss  Carmichael, 
and  the  old  mother  drank  with  the  star  to 
celebrate  the  first  performance  of  Lillian's 
Duty. 

"I  have  had  a  letter  from  Mr.  Douglass," 
Helen  said,  softly,  when  they  were  alone. 
"Poor  fellow,  he  is  absolutely  prostrate  in 
the  dust,  and  asks  me  to  throw  him  over 
board  as  our  Jonah.  Put  yourself  in  his 
place,  Hugh,  before  speaking  harshly  of 
him." 

"I  don't  like  a  coward,"  he  replied,  con 
temptuously.  "  Why  didn't  he  face  the  music 
to-night  ?  I  never  so  much  as  set  eyes  on  him 
after  he  came  in.  He  must  have  been  hiding 
in  the  gallery.  He  leads  you  into  this  crazy 
venture  and  then  deserts  you.  A  man  who 
does  that  is  a  puppy." 

A  spark  of  amusement  lit  Helen's  eyes. 
"  You  might  call  him  that  when  you  meet  him 
next." 

Hugh,  with  a  sudden  remembrance  of  the 

120 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

playwright's  powerful  frame,  replied,  a  little 
less  truculently :  "  I'll  call  him  something 
more  fit  than  that  when  I  see  him.  But 
we  won't  see  him  again.  He's  out  of  the 
running." 

Helen  laid  her  cheek  on  her  folded  hands, 
and,  with  a  smile  which  cleared  the  air  like  a 
burst  of  sunshine,  said,  laughingly:  "Hugh, 
you're  a  big,  bad  boy.  You  should  be  out  on 
the  ice  skating  instead  of  managing  a  theatre. 
You  have  no  more  idea  of  George  Douglass 
than  a  bear  has  of  a  lion.  This  mood  of 
depression  is  only  a  cloud;  it  will  pass  and 
you  will  be  glad  to  beg  his  pardon.  My 
faith  in  him  and  in  Lillian's  Duty  is  un 
shaken.  He  has  the  artistic  temperament, 
but  he  has  also  the  pertinacity  of  genius. 
Come,  let's  all  go  to  bed  and  forget  our 
hurts." 

And  with  this  she  rose  and  kissed  her  mother 
good-night. 

Hugh,  still  moody,  replied,  with  sudden 
tenderness:  "It  hurt  me  to  see  them  go  out 

121 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

on  your  last  scene.     I  can't  forgive  Douglass 
for  that." 

She  patted  his  cheek.     "Never  mind  that, 
Hughie.     '  This,  too,  shall  pass  away.'  " 


JT  two  o'clock,  when  Douglass 
returned  to  his  hotel,  tired  and 
reckless  of  any  man's  scorn,  the 
night  clerk  smiled  and  said,  as 
he  handed  him  a  handful  of 
letters,  "I  hear  you  had  a  great  audience, 
Mr.  Douglass." 

The  playwright  did  not  discover  Helen's 
note  among  his  letters  till  he  had  reached  his 
room,  and  then,  without  removing  his  over 
coat,  he  stood  beneath  the  gas-jet  and  read : 

"My  DEAR  AUTHOR, — My  heart  bleeds  for 
you.  I  know  how  you  must  suffer,  but  you 
must  not  despair.  A  first  night  is  not  conclu- 

9  123 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

sive.  Do  not  blame  yourself.  I  took  up  your 
play  with  my  eyes  open  to  consequences.  You 
are  wrong  if  you  think  even  the  failure  of  this 
play  (which  I  do  not  grant)  can  make  any  differ 
ence  in  my  feeling  towards  you.  The  power  of 
the  lines,  your  high  purpose,  remain.  Suppose 
it  does  fail  ?  You  are  young  and  fertile  of  imag 
ination.  You  can  write  another  and  better 
play  in  a  month,  and  I  will  produce  it.  My 
faith  in  you  is  not  weakened,  for  I  know  your 
work  is  good.  I  have  turned  my  back  on  the 
old  art  and  the  old  roles ;  I  need  you  to  sup 
ply  me  with  new  ones.  This  is  no  light  thing 
with  me.  I  confess  to  surprise  and  dismay 
to-night,  but  I  should  not  have  been  depressed 
had  you  been  there  beside  me.  I  was  deeply 
hurt  and  puzzled  by  your  absence,  but  I  think 
I  understand  how  sore  and  wounded  you  were. 
Come  in  to  see  me  to-morrow,  as  usual,  and 
we  will  consider  what  can  be  done  with  this 
play  and  plan  for  a  new  one.  Come!  You 
are  too  strong  and  too  proud  to  let  a  single 
unfriendly  audience  dishearten  you.  We  will 

124 


THE  LIGHT  OP  THE  STAR 

read  the  papers  together  at  luncheon  and 
laugh  at  the  critics.  Don't  let  your  enemies 
think  they  have  driven  you  into  retirement. 
Forget  them  in  some  new  work,  and  remember 
my  faith  in  you  is  not  shaken." 

This  letter,  so  brave,  so  gravely  tender  and 
so  generous,  filled  him  with  love,  choked  him 
with  grateful  admiration.  "  You  are  the  no 
blest  woman  in  the  world,  the  bravest,  the 
most  forgiving.  I  will  not  disappoint  you." 

His  bitterness  and  shame  vanished,  his 
fists  clinched  in  new  resolution.  "  You  are 
right.  I  can  write  another  play,  and  I  will. 
My  critics  shall  laugh  from  the  other  side  of 
their  mouths.  They  shall  not  have  the  sat 
isfaction  of  knowing  that  they  have  even 
wounded  me.  I  will  justify  your  faith  in 
my  powers.  I  will  set  to  work  to-morrow — 
this  very  night — on  a  new  play.  I  will  make 
you  proud  of  me  yet,  Helen,  my  queen,  my 
love."  With  that  word  all  his  doubts  van 
ished.  "Yes,  I  love  her,  and  I  will  win  her." 
125 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

In  the  glow  of  his  love-born  resolution  he 
began  to  search  among  his  papers  for  an 
unfinished  scenario  called  Enid's  Choice. 
When  he  had  found  it  he  set  to  work  upon  it 
with  a  concentration  that  seemed  uncanny  in 
the  light  of  his  day's  distraction  and  dismay. 
Lillian's  Duty  and  the  evening's  bitter  fail 
ure  had  already  grown  dim  in  his  mind. 

Helen's  understanding  of  him  was  precise. 
He  was  of  those  who  never  really  capitulate 
to  the  storm,  no  matter  how  deeply  they  may 
sink  at  times  in  the  trough  of  the  sea.  As 
everything  had  been  against  him  up  to  that 
moment,  he  was  not  really  taken  by  surprise. 
All  "his  life  he  had  gone  directly  against  the 
advice  and  wishes  of  his  family.  He  had 
studied  architecture  rather  than  medicine,  and 
had  set  his  face  towards  the  East  rather  than 
the  West.  Every  dollar  he  had  spent  he  had 
earned  by  toil,  and  the  things  he  loved  had 
always  seemed  the  wasteful  and  dangerous 
things.  He  wrote  plays  in  secret  when  he 
should  have  been  soliciting  commissions  for 
126 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

warehouses,  and  read  novels  when  he  should 
have  been  intent  upon  his  business. 

"It  was  impossible  that  I  should  succeed  so 
quickly,  so  easily,  even  with  the  help  of  one 
so  powerful  as  Helen  Merival.  It  is  my  fate 
to  work  for  what  I  get."  And  with  this  re 
turn  of  his  belief  that  to  himself  alone  he  must 
look  for  victory,  his  self-poise  and  self-confi 
dence  came  back. 

He  looked  strong,  happy,  and  very  hand 
some  next  morning  as  he  greeted  the  clerk 
of  the  Embric,  who  had  no  guile  in  his  voice 
as  he  said : 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Douglass.  I  hear  that 
your  play  made  a  big  hit  last  night." 

"I  reckon  it  hit  something,"  he  replied, 
with  easy  evasion. 

The  clerk  continued:  "My  wife's  sister  was 
there.  She  liked  it  very  much." 

"  I  am  very  glad  she  did,"  replied  Douglass, 
heartily.  As  he  walked  over  towards  the  ele 
vator  a  couple  of  young  men  accosted  him. 

"  Good  -  morning,  Mr.  Douglass.  We  are 
127 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

from  The  Blazon.  We  would  like  to  get  a  little 
talk  out  of  you  about  last  night's  performance. 
How  do  you  feel  about  the  verdict." 

"It  was  a  'frost,'"  replied  Douglass,  with 
engaging  candor,  "but  I  don't  consider  the 
verdict  final.  I  am  not  at  all  discouraged. 
You  see,  it's  all  in  getting  a  hearing.  Miss 
Merival  gave  my  play  a  superb  production, 
and  her  impersonation  ought  to  fill  the  theatre, 
even  if  Lillian's  Duty  were  an  indifferent 
play,  which  it  is  not  Miss  Merival,  in  chang 
ing  the  entire  tone  and  character  of  her  work, 
must  necessarily  disappoint  a  certain  type 
of  admirer.  Last  night's  audience  was  very 
largely  made  up  of  those  who  hate  serious 
drama,  and  naturally  they  did  not  like  my 
text.  All  that  is  a  detail.  We  will  create 
our  own  audience." 

The  reporters  carried  away  a  vivid  impres 
sion  of  the  author's  youth,  strength,  and  con 
fidence,  and  one.  of  them  sat  down  to  con 
vey  to  the  public  his  admiration  in  these 
words : 

128 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

"  Mr.  Douglass  is  a  Western  man,  and  boldly 
shies  his  buckskin  into  the  arena  and  invites 
the  keenest  of  his  critics  to  take  it  up.  If  any 
one  thinks  the  'roast'  of  his  play  has  even 
singed  the  author's  wings,  he  is  mistaken.  He 
is  very  much  pleased  with  himself.  As  he 
says,  a  hearing  is  a  great  thing.  He  may  be 
a  chopping-block,  but  he  don't  look  it." 

Helen  met  her  playwright  with  an  anxious, 
tired  look  upon  her  face,  but  when  he  touched 
her  fingers  to  his  lips  and  said,  "At  your  ser 
vice,  my  lady,"  she  laughed  in  radiant,  sudden 
relief. 

"Oh,  but  I'm  glad  to  see  you  looking  so 
gay  and  strong.  I  was  heart-sore  for  you  last 
night.  I  fancied  you  in  all  kinds  of  torture." 

His  face  darkened.  "  I  was.  My  blue 
devils  assailed  me,  but  I  vanquished  them, 
thanks  to  your  note,"  he  added,  with  a  burn 
ing  glance  deep-sent,  and  his  voice  fell  to  a 
tenderness  which  betrayed  his  heart.  "  I 
think  you  are  the  most  tolerant  star  that  ever 
129 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

put  out  a  hand  to  a  poor  author.  What  a 
beast  I  was  to  run  away!  But  I  couldn't  help 
it  then.  I  wanted  to  see  you,  but  I  couldn't 
face  Westervelt  and  Royleston.  I  couldn't 
endure  to  hear  them  say,  *  I  told  you  so/ 
You  understood,  I'm  sure  of  it." 

She  studied  him  with  admiring  eyes.  "  Yes, 
I  understood — later.  At  first  I  was  crushed. 
It  shook  my  faith  in  you  for  a  little  while." 
She  put  off  this  mood  (whose  recollected 
shadows  translated  into  her  face  filled 
Douglass's  throat  with  remorse)  and  a  smile 
disclosed  her  returning  sense  of  humor.  "  Oh, 
Hugh  and  Westervelt  are  angry — perfectly 
purple  with  indignation  against  you  for  lead 
ing  me  into  a  trap— 

"  I  feared  that.     That  is  why  I  begged  you 
to  throw  my  play- 
She  laid  a  finger  on  her  lips,  for  Mrs.  Mac- 
Davitt  came  in.     "Mother,  here  is  Mr.  Doug 
lass.    I  told  you  he  would  come.    I  hope  you  are 
hungry.    Let  us  take  our  places.    Hugh  is  fairly 
used  up  this  morning.     Do  you  see  that  bunch 
130 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

of  papers  ?"  she  asked,  pointing  at  a  ragged  pile. 
"After  breakfast  we  take  our  medicine." 

"  No,"  he  said,  firmly.  "  I  have  determined 
not  to  read  a  line  of  them.  To  every  word 
you  speak  I  will  listen,  but  I  will  not  be  har 
rowed  up  by  a  hodgepodge  of  personal  preju 
dices  written  by  my  enemies  before  the  play 
was  produced  or  in  a  hurried  hour  between 
the  fall  of  the  curtain  and  going  to  press.  I 
know  too  much  about  how  these  judgments 
are  cooked  up.  I  saw  the  faults  of  the  play 
a  good  deal  clearer  than  did  any  of  those 
sleepy  gentlemen  who  came  to  the  theatre 
surfeited  and  weary  and  resentful  of  your 
change  of  programme." 

She  looked  thoughtful.  "  Perhaps  you  are 
right,"  she  said,  at  last.  "I  will  not  read 
them.  I  know  what  they  will  say — " 

"  I  thought  the  play  was  very  beautiful,  "said 
Mrs.  MacDavitt.  "  And  my  Nellie  was  grand." 

Helen  patted  her  mother's  hand.  "We 
have  one  loyal  supporter,  Mr.  Douglass." 

"Ye've    many    more,   if    the    truth   were 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

known,"  said  the  old  mother,  stoutly,  for  she 
liked  young  Douglass. 

"I  believe  that,"  cried  Helen.  "Did  you 
consider  that  as  I  change  my  roles  and  plays 
I  must  also,  to  a  large  extent,  change  my  au 
dience?  The  people  who  like  me  as  Baroness 
Telka  are  amazed  and  angered  by  your  play. 
They  will  not  come  to  see  me.  But  there  are 
others,"  she  added,  with  a  smile  at  the  slang 
phrase. 

"  I  thought  of  that,  but  not  till  last  night." 

"  It  will  take  longer  to  inform  and  interest 
our  new  public  than  any  of  us  realized.  I  am 
determined  to  keep  Lillian  on  for  at  least 
four  weeks.  Meanwhile  you  can  prune  it 
and  set  to  work  on  a  new  one.  Have  you  a 
theme?" 

"I  have  a  scenario,"  he  triumphantly  an 
swered.  "  I  worked  it  out  this  morning  be 
tween  two  o'clock  and  four." 

She  reached  her  hand  to  him  impulsively,  and 
as  he  took  it  a  warm  flush  came  into  her  face 
and  her  eyes  were  suffused  with  happy  tears. 
132 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

" That's  brave,"  she  said.  "I  told  them 
you  could  not  be  crushed.  I  knew  you  were 
of  those  who  fight  hardest  when  closest  press 
ed.  You  must  tell  me  about  it  at  once — not 
this  minute,  of  course,  but  when  we  are  alone." 

When  Hugh  came  in  a  few  minutes  later  he 
found  them  discussing  a  new  automobile  which 
had  just  made  a  successful  trial  run.  The 
play  became  the  topic  of  conversation  again, 
but  on  a  different  plane. 

Hugh  was  blunt,  but  not  so  abusive  as  he 
had  declared  his  intention  to  be.  "  There's 
nothing  in  Lillian,"  he  said  —  "not  a  dollar. 
We're  throwing  our  money  away.  We  might 
better  close  the  theatre.  We  won't  have  fifty 
dollars  in  the  house  to-night.  It's  all  right 
as  a  story,  but  it  won't  do  for  the  stage." 

Douglass  kept  his  temper.  "  It  was  too 
long;  but  I  can  better  that  in  a  few  hours. 
I'll  have  a  much  closer-knit  action  by  Wednes 
day  night." 

As  they  were  rising  from  the  table  Wester- 
velt  entered  with  a  face  like  a  horse,  so  long 
133 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

and  lax  was  it.  "  They  have  burned  us  alive !" 
he  exclaimed,  as  he  sank  into  a  chair  and 
mopped  his  red  neck.  He  shook  like  a  gelatine 
pudding,  and  Helen  could  not  repress  a  smile. 

"Your  mistake  was  in  reading  them.  We 
burned  the  critics." 

The  manager  stared  in  vast  amaze.  "You 
didn't  read  the  papers?" 

"Not  one." 

"Well,  they  say—" 

She  stopped  him.  "  Don't  tell  me  what  they 
say — not  a  word.  We  did  our  best  and  we  did 
good  work,  and  will  do  better  to-night,  so 
don't  come  here  like  a  bird  of  ill-omen,  Herr 
Wester velt.  Go  kill  the  critics  if  you  feel  like 
it,  but  don't  worry  us  with  tales  of  woe.  Our 
duty  is  to  the  play.  We  cannot  afford  to 
waste  nervous  energy  writhing  under  criti 
cism.  What  is  said  is  said,  and  repeating  it 
only  hurts  us  all."  Her  tone  became  friendly. 
"Really,  you  take  it  too  hard.  It  is  only  a 
matter  of  a  few  thousand  dollars  at  the  worst, 
and  to  free  you  from  all  further  anxiety  I  will 
i34 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

assume  the  entire  risk.  I  will  rent  your 
theatre." 

"No,  no!"  cried  Hugh.  "We  can't  afford 
to  do  that." 

"We  can't  afford  to  do  less.  I  insist,"  she 
replied,  firmly. 

The  manager  lifted  his  fat  shoulders  in  a 
convulsive  shrug.  His  face  indicated  de 
spair  of  her  folly.  "Good  Gott!  Well,  you 
are  the  doctor,  only  remember  there  will  not 
be  one  hundred  people  in  the  house  to-night." 
He  began  to  recover  speech.  " Think  of  that! 
Helen  Merival  playing  to  empty  chairs — in 
my  theatre.  Himmel!" 

"  It  is  sad,  I  confess,  but  not  hopeless,  Herr 
Westervelt.  We  must  work  the  harder  to  let 
the  thoughtful  people  of  the  city  know  what 
we  are  trying  to  do." 

" Thoughtful  people!"  Again  his  scorn  ran 
beyond  his  words  for  a  moment  and  his  tongue 
grew  German.  "  Dough tful  beople.  Deydondt 
bay  dwo  toilers  f er  seats !  Our  pusiness  iss  to 
attract  the  rich — the  gay  theatre-goers.  Who 
135 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

is  going  to  pring  a  theatre-barty  to  see  a  ser 
mon  on  the  stage — hay?" 

"You  are  unjust  to  Lillian's  Duty.  It  is 
not  a  sermon ;  it  is  a  powerful  acting  play— 
the  best  part,  from  a  purely  acting  stand 
point,  I  have  ever  undertaken  to  do.  But 
we  will  not  discuss  that  now.  The  venture 
is  my  own,  and  you  will  be  safe-guarded.  I 
will  instruct  my  brother  to  make  the  new 
arrangement  at  once." 

With  a  final,  despairing  shrug  the  manager 
rose  and  went  out,  and  Helen,  turning  an 
amused  face  to  Douglass,  asked,  humorously: 
"  Isn't  he  the  typical  manager? — in  the  clouds 
to-day,  stuck  in  the  mud  to-morrow.  Some 
times  he  is  excruciatingly  funny,  and  then  he 
disgusts  me.  They're  almost  all  alike.  If 
business  should  be  unexpectedly  good  to-night 
he  would  be  a  man  transformed.  His  face 
would  shine,  he  would  grasp  every  actor  by 
the  hand,  he  would  fairly  fall  upon  your  neck ; 
but  if  business  went  down  ten  dollars  on 
Wednesday  night  then  look  for  the  '  icy  mitt ' 

136 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

again.  Big  as  he  is  he  curls  up  like  a  sensitive 
plant  when  touched  by  adversity.  He  can't 
help  it;  he's  really  a  child — a  big,  fat  boy. 
But  come,  we  must  now  consider  the  cuts  for 
Lillian;  then  to  our  scenario." 

As  the  attendants  whisked  away  the  break 
fast  things  Helen  brought  out  the  original 
manuscript  of  Lillian's  Duty,  and  took  a  seat 
beside  her  playwright.  "Now,  what  is  the 
matter  with  the  first  act?" 

"Nothing." 

"I  agree.     What  is  out  in  the  second?" 

"Needs  cutting." 

"Where?" 

"Here  and  here  and  here,"  he  answered, 
turning  the  leaves  rapidly. 

"I  felt  it.  I  couldn't  hold  them  there. 
Royleston's  part  wants  the  knife  badly. 
Now,  the  third  act?" 

"It  is  too  diffuse,  and  the  sociologic  back 
ground  gets  obstinately  into  the  foreground. 
As  I  sat  there  last  night  I  saw  that  the  interest 
was  too  abstract,  too  impersonal  for  the  ordi- 
137 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

nary  play-goer.  I  can  better  that.  The  fourth 
act  must  be  entirely  rewritten.  I  will  do  that 
this  afternoon." 

She  faced  him,  glowing  with  recovered  joy 
and  recovered  confidence.  "Now  you  are 
Richard  once  again  upon  his  horse. " 

"A  hobby  horse,"  he  answered,  with  a 
laugh,  then  sobered.  "  In  truth,  my  strength 
comes  from  you.  At  least  you  roused  me.  I 
was  fairly  in  the  grasp  of  the  Evil  One  when 
your  note  came.  Your  splendid  confidence 
set  me  free.  It  was  beautiful  of  you  to  write 
me  after  I  had  sneaked  away  like  a  wounded 
coyote.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  your  letter 
was  to  me." 

She  held  up  a  ringer.  "Hush!  No  more 
of  that.  We  are  forgetting,  and  you  are  be 
coming  personal."  She  said  this  in  a  tone 
peculiarly  at  variance  with  the  words.  "  Now 
read  me  the  scenario  of  the  new  play.  I  am 
eager  to  know  what  has  moved  you,  set  you  on 
high  again." 

The  creative  fire  began  to  glow  in  his  eyes. 

138 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

"This  is  to  be  as  individual,  as  poetic,  as  the 
other  was  sociologic.  The  character  you  are 
to  play  is  that  of  a  young  girl  who  knows  noth 
ing  of  life,  but  a  great  deal  of  books.  Enid's 
whole  world  is  revealed  by  the  light  which 
streams  from  the  window  of  a  convent  library — 
a  gray,  cold  light  with  deep  shadows.  She  is 
tall  and  pale  and  severe  of  line,  but  her  blue 
eyes  are  deep  and  brooding.  Her  father,  a 
Western  mine-owner,  losing  his  second  wife, 
calls  on  his  daughter  to  return  from  the  Cana 
dian  convent  in  which  she  has  spent  seven 
years.  She  takes  her  position  as  an  heiress  in 
his  great  house.  She  is  plunged  at  once  into  the 
midst  of  a  pleasure-seeking,  thoughtless  throng 
of  young  people  whose  interests  in  life  seem  to 
her  to  be  grossly  material.  She  becomes  the 
prey  of  adventurers,  male  and  female,  and  has 
nothing  but  her  innate  purity  to  defend  her. 
Ultimately  there  come  to  her  two  men  who 
type  the  forces  at  war  around  her,  and  she  is 
forced  to  choose  between  them." 

As  he  outlined  this  new  drama  the  mind  of 
139 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

the  actress  took  hold  of  Enid's  character,  so 
opposite  in  energy  to  Lillian,  and  its  great 
possibilities  exalted  her,  filled  her  with  ad 
miration  for  the  mind  which  could  so  quickly 
create  a  new  character. 

"I  see  I  shall  never  want  for  parts  while 
you  are  my  playwright,"  she  said,  when  he 
had  finished. 

"Oh,  I  can  write — so  long  as  I  have  you  to 
write  for  and  to  work  for,"  he  replied.  "  You 
are  the  greatest  woman  in  the  world.  Your 
faith  in  me,  your  forgiveness  of  my  cowardice, 
have  given  me  a  sense  of  power — " 

She  spoke  quickly  and  with  an  effort  to 
smile.  "We  are  getting  personal  again." 

He  bowed  to  the  reminder.  "I  beg  your 
pardon.  I  will  not  offend  again." 


XI 


lELEN'S  warning  was  not  as 
playful  as  it  seemed  to  her 
lover,  for  something  in  the 
glow  of  his  eyes  and  some 
thing  vibrant  in  the  tones  of 
his  voice  had  disturbed  her  profoundly.  The 
fear  of  something  which  he  seemed  perilously 
near  saying  filled  her  with  unrest,  bringing 
up  questions  which  had  thus  far  been  kept  in 
the  background  of  her  scheme  of  life. 

"Some  time  I  shall  marry,  I  suppose,"  she 
had  said  to  one  of  her  friends,  "but  not  now; 
my  art  will  not  permit  it.  Wedlock  to  an 
actress,"  she  added,  "is  almost  as  significant 
as  death.  It  may  mean  an  end  of  her  playing 
141 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

— a  death  to  her  ambitions.  When  I  decide 
to  marry  I  shall  also  decide  to  give  up  the 
stage." 

11  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  other. 
"There  are  plenty  who  do  not.  In  fact, 
Mary  Anderson  is  the  exception.  When  the 
conquering  one  comes  along  you'll  marry  him 
and  make  him  your  leading  man,  the  way  so 
many  others  do." 

"  When  '  the  conquering  one '  comes  along  I 
shall  despise  the  stage,"  retorted  Helen,  with 
laughing  eyes — "at  least  I'm  told  I  will." 

"Pish!  You'd  give  a  dozen  husbands  for 
the  joy  of  facing  a  big  first-night  audience.  I 
tell  Horace  that  if  it  comes  to  a  matter  of 
choice  for  me  he'll  have  to  go.  Gracious  good 
ness!  I  could  no  more  live  without  the  ap 
plause  of  the  stage— 

"How  about  the  children?" 

"The  children!  Oh,  that's  different.  The 
dear  tots!  Well,  luckily,  they're  not  abso 
lutely  barred.  It's  hard  to  leave  the  darlings 
behind.  When  I  go  on  the  road  I  miss  their 
142 


THB  LIGHT  OF>  THE  STAR 

sweet  little  caresses;  but  I  have  to  earn  their 
bread,  you  see,  and  what  better  career  is  open 
to  me." 

Helen  grew  grave  also.  "  I  don't  like  to 
think  of  myself  as  an  old  actress.  I  want  to 
have  a  fixed  abiding-place  when  I  am  forty- 
five.  Gray  hairs  should  shine  in  the  light  of  a 
fireside." 

" There's  always  peroxide,"  put  in  the 
other,  and  their  little  mood  of  seriousness 
vanished. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  very  unusual  situation  for 
a  young  and  charming  actress.  The  Hotel 
Embric  stood  just  where  three  great  streams 
of  wealth  and  power  and  fashion  met  and  min 
gled.  Its  halls  rustled  with  the  spread  silks 
of  pride  and  glittered  with  the  jewels  of  spend 
thrift  vanity,  and  yet  few  knew  that  high  in 
the  building  one  of  the  most  admired  women 
of  the  city  lived  in  almost  monastic  seclusion. 
The  few  men  who  recognized  her  in  the  ele 
vator  or  in  the  hall  bowed  with  deferential 
admiration.  She  was  never  seen  in  the 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

dining-rooms,  and  it  was  known  that  she 
denied  herself  to  all  callers  except  a  very 
few  intimate  friends. 

This  seclusion — this  close  adherence  to  her 
work — added  to  her  mystery,  and  her  allure 
ment  in  the  eyes  of  her  suitors  increased  as 
they  sought  vainly  for  an  introduction.  It 
was  reported  that  this  way  of  life  was  "all  a 
matter  of  business,  a  cold,  managerial  propo 
sition,"  a  method  of  advertising;  but  so  far  as 
Helen  herself  was  implicated,  it  was  a  method 
of  protection. 

She  had  an  instinctive  dislike,  almost  a  fear, 
of  those  who  sought  her  acquaintance,  and 
when  Westervelt,  with  blundering  tactless 
ness  or  impudent  design,  brought  round  some 
friends,  she  froze  them  both  with  a  single 
glance. 

Furthermore,  by  denying  herself  to  one  she 
was  able  to  escape  the  other,  and  thus  save 
herself  for  her  work ;  for  though  she  had  grown 
to  hate  the  plays  through  which  she  reached 
the  public,  she  believed  in  the  power  and  the 
144 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

dignity  of  her  art.  It  was  a  means  of  liveli 
hood,  it  gratified  her  vanity ;  but  it  was  more 
than  this.  In  a  dim  way  she  felt  herself  in 
league  with  a  mighty  force,  and  the  desire  to 
mark  an  epoch  in  the  American  drama  came 
to  her.  This,  too,  was  a  form  of  egotism,  but 
a  high  form. 

"I  do  not  care  to  return  to  the  old,"  she 
said.  "There  are  plenty  of  women  to  do 
Beatrice  and  Viola  and  Lady  Macbeth.  I  am 
modern.  I  believe  in  the  modern  and  I  believe 
in  America.  I  don't  care  to  start  a  fad  for 
Ibsen  or  Shaw.  I  would  like  to  develop  our 
own  drama." 

"  You  will  have  to  eliminate  the  tired  busi 
ness-man  and  his  fat  wife  and  their  late  din 
ners,"  said  a  cynical  friend. 

"All  business -men  are  not  tired  and  all 
wives  are  not  fat.  I  believe  there  is  a  public 
ready  to  pay  their  money  to  see  good  Ameri 
can  drama.  I  have  found  a  man  who  can 
write—" 

"  Beware  of  that  man,"  said  the  cynic,  with 
145 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

a  twofold  meaning  in  his  tone.      "He  is  a 
dreamer;   let  him  pass." 

"I  do  not  fear  him,"  she  replied,  with  a 
gay  smile. 


XII 


OUGLASS  now  set  to  work 
on  his  second  play  with  teeth 
clinched.  "I  will  win  out  in 
spite  of  them,"  he  said.  "  They 
think  I  am  beaten,  but  I  am 
just  beginning  to  fight."  As  the  days  wore 
on  his  self -absorption  became  more  and  more 
marked.  All  his  morning  hours  were  spent 
at  his  writing,  and  when  he  came  to  Helen  he 
was  cold  and  listless,  and  talked  of  nothing 
but  Enid  and  her  troubles.  Even  as  they 
rode  in  the  park  his  mind  seemed  forever  re 
volving  lines  and  scenes.  In  the  midst  of  her 
attempt  to  amuse  him,  to  divert  him,  he  re 
turned  to  his  theme.  He  invited  her  judg- 
147 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

ments  and  immediately  forgot  to  listen,  so 
morbidly  self-centred  was  he. 

He  made  no  further  changes  in  the  book  of 
Lillian's  Duty,  but  put  aside  Westervelt's  re 
quest  with  a  wave  of  his  hand.  "  I  leave  all 
that  to  Miss  Merival,"  he  said.  "  I  can't  give 
it  any  thought  now." 

From  one  point  of  view  Helen  could  not  but 
admire  this  power  of  concentration,  but  when 
she  perceived  that  her  playwright's  work  had 
filled  his  mind  to  the  exclusion  of  herself  she 
began  to  suffer.  Her  pride  resented  his  in 
difference,  and  she  was  saved  from  anger  and 
disgust  only  by  the  beauty  of  the  writing  he 
brought  to  her. 

"  The  fury  of  the  poet  is  on  him.  I  must  not 
complain,"  she  thought,  and  yet  a  certain  re 
gret  darkened  her  face.  "All  that  was  so 
sweet  and  fine  has  passed  out  of  our  inter 
course,"  she  sadly  admitted  to  herself.  "  I  am 
no  longer  even  the  great  actress  to  him.  Once 
he  worshipped  me — I  felt  it;  now  I  am  a 
commonplace  friend.  Is  the  fault  in  me? 
148 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

Am  I  one  whom  familiarity  lessens  in 
value?" 

She  did  not  permit  herself  to  think  that  this 
was  a  lasting  change,  that  he  had  forever 
passed  beyond  the  lover,  and  that  she  would 
never  again  fill  his  world  with  mystery  and 
light  and  longing. 

And  yet  this  monstrous  recession  was  the 
truth.  In  the  stress  of  his  work  the  glamour 
had  utterly  died  out  of  Douglass's  conception 
of  Helen,  just  as  the  lurid  light  of  her  old-time 
advertising  had  faded  from  the  bill-boards  and 
from  the  window  displays  of  Broadway.  As 
cold,  black,  and  gray  instantaneous  photo 
graphs  had  taken  the  place  of  the  gorgeous, 
jewel-bedecked,  elaborate  lithographs  of  the 
old  plays,  so  now  his  thought  of  her  was  with 
out  warmth. 

Helen  became  aware,  too,  of  an  outside 
change.  Her  friends  used  this  as  a  further 
warning. 

"You  are  becoming  commonplace  to  the 
public,"  one  said,  with  a  touch  of  bitterness. 
149 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

"Your  admirers  no  longer  wonder.  Go  back 
to  the  glitter  and  the  glory." 

"  No,"  she  replied.  "  I  will  regain  my  place, 
and  with  my  own  unaided  character — and 
my  lines,"  she  added,  with  a  return  to  her 
faith  in  Douglass. 

And  yet  her  meetings  with  him  were  now  a 
species  of  torture.  Her  self-respect  suffered 
with  every  glance  of  his  eyes.  He  resembled 
a  man  suffering  from  a  fever.  At  times  he 
talked  with  tiresome  intensity  about  some  new 
situation,  quoting  his  own  characters,  beat 
ing  and  hammering  at  his  scenes  until  Helen 
closed  her  eyes  for  very  weariness.  Only  at 
wide  intervals  did  he  return  to  some  dim 
realization  of  his  indebtedness  to  her.  One 
day  he  gratified  her  by  saying,  with  a  note  of 
tenderness  in  his  voice:  "You  are  keeping  the 
old  play  on ;  don't  do  it.  Throw  it  away ;  it 
is  a  tract — a  sermon."  Then  spoiled  it  all  by 
bitterly  adding,  "Go  back  to  your  old  suc 


cesses." 


"You  used  to  dislike  me  in  such  roles,"  she 
150 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

answered,  with  pain  and  reproach  in  face  and 
voice. 

"It  will  only  be  for  a  little  while,"  he  re 
plied,  with  a  swift  return  to  his  enthusiasm. 
"In  two  weeks  I'll  have  the  new  part  ready 
for  you."  But  the  sting  of  his  advice  re 
mained  long  in  the  proud  woman's  heart. 

He  went  no  more  to  the  theatre.  "  I  can't 
bear  to  see  you  playing  to  empty  seats,"  he 
declared,  in  explanation,  but  in  reality  he  had 
a  horror  of  the  scene  of  his  defeat. 

He  came  to  lunch  less  often,  and  when  they 
went  driving  or  visiting  the  galleries  all  the 
old  -  time,  joyous  companionship  was  gone. 
Not  infrequently,  as  they  stood  before  some 
picture  or  sat  at  a  concert,  he  would  whisper, 
"I  have  it;  the  act  will  end  with  Enid  doing 
so-and-so,"  and  not  infrequently  he  hurried 
away  from  her  to  catch  some  fugitive  illu 
mination  which  he  feared  to  lose.  He  came 
to  her  reception-room  only  once  of  a  Sat 
urday  afternoon,  just  before  the  play 
closed. 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

11  How  is  the  house?"  he  asked,  with  indiffer 
ence. 

"Bad." 

"Very  bad?" 

"Oh  yes." 

"I  must  work  the  harder,"  he  replied,  and 
sank  into  a  sombre  silence.  He  never  came 
inside  again. 

Helen  was  deeply  wounded  by  this  visit, 
and  was  sorely  tempted  to  take  him  at  his 
word  and  end  the  production,  but  she  did  not. 
She  could  not,  so  deep  had  her  interest  in  him 
become.  Loyal  to  him  she  must  remain,  loyal 
to  his  work. 

As  his  bank  account  grew  perilously  small, 
Douglass  fell  into  deeps  of  black  despair, 
wherein  all  imaginative  power  left  him.  At 
such  times  the  lack  of  depth  and  significance 
in  his  work  appalled  him.  "It  is  hopelessly 
poor  and  weak ;  it  does  not  deserve  to  succeed. 
I've  a  mind  to  tear  it  in  rags."  But  he  re 
sisted  this  spirit,  partly  restrained  by  some 
hidden  power  traceable  to  the  influence  of 
152 


THE    LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

Helen  and  partly  by  his  desire  to  retrieve  him 
self  in  the  estimation  of  the  world,  but  mainly 
because  of  some  hidden  force  in  his  own  brain, 
and  set  to  work  each  time  filing  and  polishing 
with  renewed  care  of  word  and  phrase. 

Slowly  the  second  drama  took  on  form  and 
quality,  developing  a  web  of  purpose  not  un 
like  that  involved  in  a  strain  of  solemn  music, 
and  at  the  last  the  author's  attention  was 
directed  towards  eliminating  minute  inhar- 
monies  or  to  the  insertion  of  cacophony  with 
design  to  make  the  andante  passages  the  more 
enthrallingly  sweet.  As  the  play  neared  com 
pletion  his  absorption  began  to  show  results. 
He  lost  vigor,  and  Helen's  eyes  took  anxious 
note  of  his  weariness.  "  You  are  growing  thin 
and  white,  Mr.  Author,"  she  said  to  him,  with 
solicitude  in  her  voice.  "  You  don't  look  like 
the  rugged  Western  Scotchman  you  were  when 
I  found  you.  Am  I  to  be  your  vampire?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  am  to  destroy  you,  to 
judge  from  the  money  you  are  losing  on  my 
wretched  play.  I  begin  to  fear  I  can  never 
153 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

repay  you,  not  even  with  a  great  success.  I 
have  days  when  I  doubt  my  power  to  write  a 
successful  drama." 

"You  work  too  hard.  You  must  not  ruin 
your  health  by  undue  haste.  A  week  or  two 
will  not  make  a  killing  difference  with  us.  I 
don't  mind  playing  Lillian  another  month, 
if  you  need  the  time.  It  is  good  discipline, 
and,  besides,  I  enjoy  the  part." 

4 'That  is  because  you  are  good  and  loyal 
to  a  poor  writer,"  he  answered,  with  a  break 
to  humble  appreciation  of  her  bounty  and  her 
bravery.  "  Be  patient  with  me,"  he  pleaded. 
"  Enid  will  recoup  you  for  all  you  have  suf 
fered.  It  will  win  back  all  your  funds.  I  have 
made  it  as  near  pure  poetry  as  our  harsh, 
definite  life  and  our  elliptical  speech  will  per 
mit."  And  straightway  his  mind  was  filled 
with  dreams  of  conquering,  even  while  he 
faced  his  love,  so  strangely  are  courtship  and 
ambition  mingled  in  the  heart  of  man. 

At  last  he  began  to  exult,  to  boast,  to  call 
attention  to  the  beauty  of  the  lines  spoken  by 
154 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

Enid.  "See  how  her  simplicity  and  virginal 
charm  are  enhanced  by  the  rugged,  remorse 
less  strength,  and  by  the  conscienceless  greed 
of  the  men  surrounding  her,  and  yet  she 
sees  in  them  something  admirable.  They  are 
like  soldiers  to  her.  They  are  the  heroes  who 
tunnel  mountains  and  bridge  cataracts.  When 
she  looks  from  her  slender,  white  hands  to 
their  gross  and  powerful  bodies  she  shudders 
with  a  sort  of  fearsome  admiration.'* 
"Can  all  that  appear  in  the  lines?'' 
"Yes.  In  the  lines  and  in  the  acting;  it 
must  appear  in  your  acting,"  he  added,  with 
a  note  of  admonition. 

Her  face  clouded  with  pain.  "He  begins 
to  doubt  my  ability  to  delineate  his  work," 
she  thought,  and  turned  away  in  order  that 
he  might  not  know  how  deeply  he  had  wound 
ed  her. 


XIII 

ELEN'S  pride  contended  un 
ceasingly  with  her  love  during 
the  weeks  of  her  lover's  alien 
ation;  for,  with  all  her  sweet 
dispraise  of  herself,  she  was 
very  proud  of  her  place  in  the  world,  and  it 
was  not  easy  to  bow  her  head  to  neglect. 
Sometimes  when  he  forgot  to  answer  her  or 
rushed  away  to  his  room  with  a  hasty  good 
bye,  she  raged  with  a  perfectly  justifiable 
anger.  "You  are  selfish  and  brutal,"  she 
cried  out  after  him  on  one  occasion.  "You 
think  only  of  yourself.  You  are  vain,  egotis 
tical.  All  that  I  have  done  is  forgotten  the 
moment  you  are  stung  by  criticism,"  and 

156 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

she  tried  to  put  him  aside.  "What  do  his 
personal  traits  matter  to  me?"  she  said,  as  if 
in  answer  to  her  own  charge.  "  He  is  my 
dramatist,  not  my  husband." 

But  when  he  came  back  to  her,  an  absent- 
minded  smile  upon  his  handsome  lips,  holding 
in  his  hands  some  pages  of  exquisite  dialogue, 
she  humbled  herself  before  him.  "After  all, 
what  am  I  beside  him?  He  is  a  poet,  a  crea 
tive  mind,  while  I  am  only  a  mimic,"  and 
straightway  she  began  to  make  excuses  for 
him.  "  Have  I  not  always  had  the  same  self 
ish,  desperate  concentration?  Am  I  always 
a  sweet  and  lovely  companion  ?  Certainly  the 
artistic  temperament  is  not  a  strange  thing  to 
me." 

Nevertheless,  she  suffered.  It  was  hard  to 
be  the  one  optimist  in  the  midst  of  so  many 
pessimists.  The  nightly  performance  to  an 
empty  house  wore  on  her  most  distressingly, 
and  no  wonder.  She,  who  had  never  hitherto 
given  a  moment's  troubled  thought  to  such 
matters,  now  sat  in  her  dressing-room  listen- 
157 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

ing  to  the  infrequent,  hollow  clang  of  the  fall 
ing  chair  seats,  attempting  thus  to  estimate 
the  audience  straggling  sparsely,  desolately  in. 
To  re-enter  the  stage  after  an  exit  was  like 
an  icy  shower-bath.  Each  night  she  hoped 
to  find  the  receipts  larger,  and  indeed  they  did 
from  time  to  time  advance  suddenly,  only  to 
drop  back  to  desolating  driblets  the  follow 
ing  night.  These  gains  were  due  to  the  work 
of  the  loyal  Hugh  as  advertising  agent,  or 
to  some  desperate  discount  sale  to  a  club 
on  the  part  of  Westervelt,  who  haunted  the 
front  of  the  house,  a  pale  and  flabby  wraith 
of  himself,  racking  his  brain,  swearing  strange, 
German  oaths,  and  perpetually  conjuring  up 
new  advertising  devices.  His  suffering  ap 
proached  the  tragic. 

His  theatre,  which  had  once  rustled  with 
gay  and  cheerful  people,  was  now  cold,  echo 
ing,  empty,  repellent.  Nothing  came  from 
the  balcony,  wherein  Helen's  sweet  voice  wan 
dered,  save  a  faint,  half-hearted  hand-clap 
ping.  No  one  sat  in  the  boxes,  and  only  here 

158 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

and  there  a  man  wore  evening-dress.  The 
women  were  always  intense,  but  undemon 
strative.  Under  these  sad  conditions  the 
music  of  the  orchestra  became  factitious,  a 
brazen  clatter  raised  to  reinforce  the  courage 
of  the  ushers,  who  flitted  about  like  uneasy 
spirits.  There  were  no  carriages  in  waiting, 
and  the  audience  returned  to  the  street  in 
silence  like  funeral  guests  from  a  church. 

Hugh  remained  bravely  at  his  post  in  front. 
Each  night  after  a  careful  toilet  he  took  his 
stand  in  the  lobby  watching  with  calculat 
ing  eye  and  impassive  face  the  stream  of 
people  rushing  by  his  door.  "If  we  could 
only  catch  one  in  a  hundred?"  he  said  to 
Westervelt.  "I  never  expected  to  see  Helen 
Merival  left  like  this.  I  didn't  think  it  possi 
ble.  I  thought  she  could  make  any  piece  go. 
To  play  to  fifty  dollars  was  out  of  my  reckon 
ing.  It  is  slaughter." 

Once  his  disgust  topped  all  restraint,  and 
he  burst  forth  to  Helen:  "Look  at  this  man 
Douglass.  He  bamboozles  us  into  producing 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

his  play,  then  runs  off  and  leaves  us  to  sink 
or  swim.  He  won't  even  change  the  lines — 
says  he's  working  on  a  new  one  that  will  make 
us  all  'barrels  of  money.'  That's  the  way  of 
these  dramatists — always  full  of  some  new 
pipe-dream.  Meanwhile  we're  going  into  the 
hole  every  night.  I  can't  stand  it.  We  were 
making  all  kinds  of  money  with  The  Bar 
oness.  Come,  let's  go  back  to  it!"  His  voice 
filled  with  love,  for  she  was  his  ideal.  "  Sis,  I 
hate  to  see  you  doing  this.  It  cuts  me  to  the 
heart.  Why,  some  of  these  newspaper  shads 
actually  pretend  to  pity  you — you,  the  great 
est  romantic  actress  in  America!  This  man 
Douglass  has  got  you  hypnotized.  Honestly, 
there's  something  uncanny  about  the  way  he 
has  queered  you.  Brace  up.  Send  him  whirl 
ing.  He  isn't  worth  a  minute  of  your  time, 
Nellie — now,  that's  the  fact.  He's  a  crazy 
freak.  Say  the  word  and  I'll  fire  him  and 
his  misbegotten  plays  to-night." 

To  this  Helen  made  simple  reply.     "No, 
Hugh ;  I  intend  to  stand  to  my  promise.     We 
160 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

will  keep  Lillian  on  till  the  new  play  is  ready. 
It  would  be  unfair  to  Mr.  Douglass— 

"But  he  has  lost  all  interest  in  it  himself. 
He  never  shows  up  in  front,  never  makes  a 
suggestion." 

' '  He  is  saving  all  his  energy  for  the  new  play." 

Hugh's  lips  twisted  in  scorn.  "The  new 
play!  Yes,  he's  filled  with  a  lot 'of  pale-blue 
moonshine  now.  He's  got  another  'idea.' 
That's  the  trouble  with  these  literary  chaps, 
they're  so  swelled  by  their  own  notions  they 
can't  write  what  the  common  audience  wants. 
His  new  play  will  be  a  worse  ' frost*  than  this. 
You'll  ruin  us  all  if  you  don't  drop  him.  We 
stand  to  lose  forty  thousand  dollars  on  Lillian 
already." 

"Nevertheless,  I  shall  give  the  new  play  a 
production,"  she  replied,  and  Hugh  turned 
away  in  speechless  dismay  and  disgust. 

The  papers  were  filled  with  stinging  allu 
sions  to  her  failure.  A  shrewd  friend  from 
Boston  met  her  with  commiseration  in  her 
face.  "It's  a  good  play  and  a  fine  part,"  she 

161 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

said,  "but  they  don't  want  you  in  such  work. 
They  like  you  when  you  look  wicked." 

"I  know  that,  but  I'm  tired  of  playing  the 
wanton  adventuress  for  such  people.  I  want 
to  appeal  to  a  more  thoughtful  public  for  the 
rest  of  my  stage  career." 

"Why  not  organize  a  church  like  Mrs. 
Allinger?"  sneered  another  less  friendly  critic. 
"The  stage  is  no  place  for  sermons." 

"You  are  horribly  unjust.  Lillian's  Duty 
is  a  powerful  acting  drama,  and  has  its  audi 
ence  if  I  could  reach  it.  Perhaps  I'm  not  the 
one  to  do  Mr.  Douglass's  work,  after  all,"  she 
added,  humbly. 

Deep  in  her  heart  Helen  MacDavitt  the 
woman  was  hungry  for  some  one  to  tell  her 
that  he  loved  her.  She  longed  to  put  her  head 
down  on  a  strong  man's  breast  to  weep.  "  If 
Douglass  would  only  open  his  arms  to  me  I 
would  go  to  him.  I  would  not  care  what  the 
world  says." 

She  wished  to  see  him  reinstate  himself  not 
merely  with  the  public  but  in  her  own  esti- 
162 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

mate  of  him.  As  she  believed  that  by  means 
of  his  pen  he  would  conquer,  she  compre 
hended  that  his  present  condition  was  fevered, 
unnatural,  and  she  hoped — she  believed — it  to 
be  temporary.  "Success  will  bring  back  the 
old,  brave,  sanguine,  self-contained  Douglass 
whose  forthright  power  and  self-confidence 
won  my  admiration,"  she  said,  and  with  this 
secret  motive  to  sustain  her  she  went  to  her 
nightly  delineation  of  Lillian. 

She  had  lived  long  without  love,  and  her 
heart  now  sought  for  it  with  an  intensity 
which  made  her  art  of  the  highest  account 
only  as  served  the  man  she  loved.  Praise  and 
publicity  were  alike  of  no  value  unless  they 
brought  success  and  happiness  to  him  whose 
eyes  called  her  with  growing  power. 


XIV 


|T  last  the  new  play  was  finished 
and  the  author  brought  it  and 
laid  it  in  the  hands  of  the  ac 
tress  as  if  it  were  a  new-born 
child,  and  her  heart  leaped 
with  joy.  He  was  no  longer  the  stern  and 
self-absorbed  writer.  His  voice  was  tender  as 
he  said,  "  I  give  this  to  you  in  the  hope  that 
it  may  regain  for  you  what  you  have  lost." 

The  tears  sprang  to  Helen's  eyes,  and  a 
word  of  love  rose  to  her  lips.  "It  is  very 
beautiful,  and  we  will  triumph  in  it." 

He  seemed  about  to  speak  some  revealing, 
sealing  word,  but  the  presence  of  the  mother 
restrained  him.     Helen,   recognizing  the  re- 
164 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

turning  tide  of  his  love,  to  which  she  related 
no  self-seeking,  -was  radiant. 

"  Come,  we  will  put  it  in  rehearsal  at  once," 
she  said.  "I  know  you  are  as  eager  to  have 
it  staged  as  I.  I  will  not  read  it.  I  will  wait 
till  you  read  it  for  the  company  to-morrow 
morning." 

"  I  do  not  go  to  that  ordeal  with  the  same 
joy  as  before,"  he  admitted. 

The  company  met  him  with  far  less  of  in 
terest  in  this  reading  of  the  second  play,  and 
his  own  manner  was  distinctly  less  confident. 
Hugh  and  Wester velt  maintained  silence,  but 
their  opposition  was  as  palpable  as  a  cold 
wind.  Royleston's  cynical  face  expressed  an 
open  contempt.  The  lesser  people  were  anx 
ious  to  know  the  kind  of  characters  they  were 
to  play,  and  a  few  were  sympathetically  eager 
to  hear  the  play  itself. 

He  read  the  manuscript  with  some  assurance 
of  manner,  but  made  no  suggestion  as  to  the 
stage  business,  contenting  himself  with  pro 
ducing  an  effect  on  the  minds  of  the  principals ; 

165 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  StAR 

but  as  the  girlish  charm  of  Enid's  character 
made  itself  felt,  the  women  of  the  company 
began  to  glow. 

"  Why,  it's  very  beautiful!"  they  exclaimed. 

Hugh,  on  the  scent  for  another  "problem," 
began  to  relax,  and  even  Westervelt  grunted  a 
few  words  of  approval,  qualified  at  once  by 
the  whispered  words,  "  Not  a  cent  in  it — not  a 
cent."  Royleston,  between  his  acts,  regarded 
the  air  with  dreamy  gaze.  "I  don't  see  my 
self  in  that  part  yet,  but  it's  very  good — very 
good." 

The  reading  closed  rather  well,  producing 
the  desired  effect  of  " happy  tears"  on  the 
faces  of  several  of  the  feminine  members  of 
the  cast,  and  Helen  again  spoke  of  her  pleasure 
in  such  work  and  asked  them  to  "lend  them 
selves"  to  the  lines.  "This  play  is  a  kind 
of  poem,"  she  said,  "and  makes  a  direct 
appeal  to  women,  and  yet  I  believe  it 
will  also  win  its  way  to  the  hearts  of  the 
men." 

As  they  rose  Douglass  returned  the  manu- 
166 


THE   LIGHT  OP  THE  STAR 

script  to  Helen  with  a  bow.  "I  renounce  all 
rights.  Hereafter  I  am  but  a  spectator." 

"I  think  you  are  right  in  not  attempting 
rehearsals.  You  are  worn  and  tired.  Why 
don't  you  go  away  for  a  time?  A  sea  voyage 
would  do  you  good." 

"  No,  I  must  stay  and  face  the  music,  as  my 
father  used  to  say.  I  do  not  wish  to  seem  to 
run  away,  and,  besides,  I  may  be  able  to  offer 
a  suggestion  now  and  then." 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  to  have  you  miss  the 
first  night.  You  could  come  back  for  that. 
If  you  stay  we  will  be  glad  of  any  suggestion 
at  any  time — won't  we,  Hugh?" 

Hugh  refused  to  be  brought  into  any  marked 
agreement.  "Of  course,  the  author's  advice 
is  valuable,  but  with  a  man  like  Olquest — " 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  a  single  rehearsal,"  re 
plied  Douglass.  "I  want  to  have  the  joy 
this  time  of  seeing  my  characters  on  the  open 
ing  night  fully  embodied.  If  the  success  of 
the  play  depended  upon  my  personal  super 
vision,  the  case  would  be  different,  but  it 
167 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

doesn't.  I  trust  you  and  Olquest.  I  will 
keep  away." 

Again  they  went  to  lunch  together,  but  the 
old-time  elation  was  sadly  wanting.  Hugh 
was  silent  and  Douglass  gloomy.  Helen  cut 
the  luncheon  for  a  ride  in  the  park,  which  did 
them  good,  for  the  wind  was  keen  and  in 
spiriting  and  the  landscape  wintry  white  and 
blue  and  gold.  She  succeeded  in  provoking 
her  playwright  to  a  smile  now  and  then  by 
some  audacious  sally  against  the  sombre  si 
lence  of  her  cavaliers. 

They  halted  for  half  an  hour  in  the  upper 
park  while  she  called  the  squirrels  to  her  and 
fed  them  from  her  own  hands — those  wonder 
ful  hands  that  had  so  often  lured  with  jewels 
and  threatened  with  steel.  No  one  seeing  this 
refined,  sweet  woman  in  tasteful  furs  would 
have  related  her  with  the  Gismonda  and  I  star, 
but  Douglass  thrilled  with  sudden  accession 
of  confidence.  "How  beautiful  she  will  be 
as  Enid!"  he  thought,  as,  with  a  squirrel  on 
her  shoulder,  she  turned  with  shining  face 

168 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

to  softly  call:  "This  is  David.     Isn't  he  a 
dear?" 

She  waited  until  the  keen-eyed  rascals  had 
taken  her  last  nut,  then  slowly  returned 
to  the  carriage  side.  "I  like  to  win  ani 
mals  like  that.  It  thrills  my  heart  to  have 
them  set  their  fearless  little  feet  on  my 


arm." 


Hugh  uttered  a  warning.  "You  want  to 
be  careful  how  you  handle  them;  they  bite 
like  demons." 

"Oh,  now,  don't  spoil  it!"  she  exclaimed. 
"I'm  sure  they  know  me  and  trust  me." 

Douglass  was  moved  to  their  defence,  and 
strove  during  the  remainder  of  the  ride  to 
add  to  Helen's  pleasure ;  and  this  effort  on  his 
part  made  her  eyes  shine  with  joy  —  a  joy 
almost  pathetic  in  its  intensity. 

As  they  parted  at  the  door  of  his  hotel  he 
said:  "  If  you  do  not  succeed  this  time  I  will 
utterly  despair  of  the  public.  I  know  how 
sweet  you  will  be  as  Enid.  They  must  bow 
down  before  you  as  I  do." 
169 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

"I  will  give  my  best  powers  to  this — be 
sure  nothing  will  be  neglected  at  rehearsal." 

"I  know  you  will,"  he  answered,  feelingly. 

She  was  better  than  her  promise,  laboring 
tirelessly  in  the  effort  to  embody  through  her 
company  the  poetry,  the  charm,  which  lay 
even  in  the  smaller  roles  of  the  play.  That 
one  so  big  and  brusque  as  Douglass  should  be 
able  to  define  so  many  and  such  fugitive  femi 
nine  emotions  was  a  constant  source  of  won 
der  and  delight  to  her.  The  discovery  gave 
her  trust  and  confidence  in  him,  and  to  her 
admiration  of  his  power  was  added  something 
which  stole  into  her  mind  like  music,  causing 
foolish  dreams  and  moments  of  reckless  ex 
altation  wherein  she  asked  herself  whether  to 
be  a  great  actress  was  not,  after  all,  a  thing  of 
less  profit  than  to  be  a  wife  and  mother. 

She  saw  much  less  of  him  than  she  wished, 
for  Hugh  remained  coldly  unresponsive  in  his 
presence,  and  threw  over  their  meetings  a  re 
straint  which  prevented  the  joyous  compan 
ionship  of  their  first  acquaintanceship. 
170 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE  STAR 

More  than  this,  Helen  was  conscious  of  being 
watched  and  commented  upon,  not  merely 
by  Hugh  and  Westervelt,  but  by  guests  of 
the  hotel  and  representatives  of  the  society 
press.  Douglass,  in  order  to  shield  her,  and 
also  because  his  position  in  the  world  was 
less  secure  than  ever,  returned  to  his  self- 
absorbed,  impersonal  manner  of  speech.  He 
took  no  part  in  the  rehearsals,  except  to  rush 
in  at  the  close  with  some  changes  which  he 
wished  embodied  at  once,  regardless  of  the 
vexation  and  confusion  resulting.  His  brain 
was  still  perilously  active,  and  not  only  cut 
and  refined  the  dialogue,  but  made  most  radi 
cal  modifications  of  the  "business." 

Helen  began  to  show  the  effects  of  the  strain 
upon  her ;  for  she  was  not  merely  carrying  the 
burden  of  Lillian's  Duty,  and  directing  re 
hearsals  of  the  new  piece — she  was  deeply  in 
volved  in  the  greatest  problem  than  can  come 
to  a  woman.  She  loved  Douglass;  but  did 
she  love  him  strongly  enough  to  warrant  her 
in  saying  so — when  he  should  ask  her? 

13  171 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

His  present  poverty  she  put  aside  as  of  no 
serious  account.  A  man  so  physically  pow 
erful,  so  mentally  alert,  was  rich  in  possibili 
ties.  The  work  which  he  had  already  done 
entitled  him  to  rank  above  millionaires,  but 
that  his  very  forcefulness,  his  strong  will,  his 
dominating  idealism  would  make  him  her 
master  —  would  inevitably  change  her  rela 
tion  to  the  world — had  already  changed  it, 
in  fact — she  was  not  ready  to  acknowledge. 

Up  to  this  time  her  love  for  the  stage  had 
been  single-minded.  No  man  had  touched 
her  heart  with  sufficient  fire  to  disturb  her 
serenity,  but  now  she  was  not  merely  follow 
ing  where  he  led,  she  was  questioning  the 
value  and  morality  of  her  avocation. 

"If  I  cannot  play  high  roles,  if  the  public 
will  not  have  me  in  work  like  this  I  am  now 
rehearsing,  then  I  will  retire  to  private  life. 
I  will  no  longer  be  a  plaything  for  the  man- 
headed  monster,"  she  said  one  day. 

"You  should  have  retired  before  sinking 
your  good  money  in  these  Douglass  plays," 
172 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

Hugh  bitterly  rejoined.  "It  looks  now  as 
though  we  might  end  in  the  police  station." 

"I  have  no  fear  of  that,  Hugh;  I  am  per 
fectly  certain  that  Enid  is  to  regain  all  our 
losses." 

"I  wish  I  had  your  beautiful  faith,"  he 
made  answer,  and  walked  away. 

Westervelt  said  little  to  her  during  these 
days ;  he  only  looked,  and  his  doleful  gestures, 
his  lugubrious  grimaces,  were  comic.  He 
stood  to  lose  nothing,  except  possible  profits 
for  Helen.  She  was  paying  him  full  rental, 
but  he  claimed  that  his  house  was  being 
ruined.  "  It  will  get  the  reputation  of  doing 
nothing  but  failures,"  he  said  to  her  once,  in  a 
last  despairing  appeal,  and  to  this  she  replied : 

"Very  well.  If  at  the  end  of  four  weeks 
Enid  does  not  pull  up  to  paying  business  I 
will  release  you  from  your  contract.  I  will 
free  your  house  of  Helen  Merival." 

"No,  no!  I  don't  want  that.  I  want  you, 
but  I  do  not  want  this  crazy  man  Douglass. 
You  must  not  leave  me!"  His  voice  grew 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

husky  with  appeal.     "  Return  to  the  old  plays, 

sign  a  five-year  contract,  and  I  will  make  you 

again  rich." 

"  There  will  be  time  to  consider  that  four 

weeks  hence." 

"Yes,  but  the  season  is  passing." 
"Courage,  mein   Herr!"   she   said,  with   a 

smile,  and  left  him  almost  in  tears. 


XV 

S  the  opening  night  of  Enid's 
Choice  drew  near,  Douglass  suf 
fered  greater  anxiety  but  ex 
perienced  far  less  of  nervous  ex 
citement  than  before.  He  was 
shaking  rather  than  tense  of  limb,  and  did 
not  find  it  necessary  to  walk  the  streets  to 
calm  his  physical  excitement.  He  was  de 
pressed  by  the  knowledge  that  a  second  de 
feat  would  leave  him  not  merely  discredited 
but  practically  penniless.  Nevertheless,  he 
did  not  hide ;  on  the  contrary,  he  took  a  seat 
in  one  of  the  boxes. 

The  audience  he  at  once  perceived  was  of 
totally  different  character  and  temper  from 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

that  which  greeted  Lillian.  It  was  quiet  and 
moderate  in  size,  rather  less  than  the  capacity 
of  the  orchestra  seats,  for  Helen  had  asked 
that  no  "paper"  be  distributed.  Very  few 
were  in  the  gallery,  and  those  who  were  had 
the  quietly  expectant  air  of  students.  Only 
three  of  the  boxes  were  occupied.  The  fash 
ionables  were  entirely  absent. 

Plainly  these  people  were  in  their  seats 
out  of  interest  in  the  play  or  because  of  the 
known  power  of  the  actress.  They  were 
not  flushed  with  wine  nor  heavy  with  late 
dinners. 

The  critics  were  out  again  in  force,  and  this 
gave  the  young  author  a  little  satisfaction, 
for  their  presence  was  indisputable  evidence 
of  the  interest  excited  by  the  literary  value 
of  his  work.  "  I  have  made  a  gain,"  he  said, 
grimly.  "Such  men  do  not  go  gunning  for 
small  deer."  But  that  they  were  after  blood 
was  shown  by  the  sardonic  grins  with  which 
they  greeted  one  another  as  they  strolled  in 
at  the  door  or  met  in  the  aisles.  They  ex- 
176 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

pected  another  "  killing,"  and  were  resolute  to 
be  thorough. 

From  the  friendly  shelter  of  the  curtain 
Douglass  could  study  the  house  without  being 
seen,  and  a  little  glow  of  fire  warmed  his 
heart  as  he  recognized  five  or  six  of  the  best- 
known  literary  men  of  the  city  seated  well 
down  towards  the  front,  and  the  fifteen  min 
utes'  wait  before  the  orchestra  leader  took  his 
seat  was  rendered  less  painful  by  his  pride  in 
the  really  high  character  of  his  audience;  but 
when  the  music  blared  forth  and  the  curtain 
began  to  rise,  his  blood  chilled  with  a  return 
of  the  fear  and  doubt  which  had  assailed  him 
at  the  opening  of  Lillian* s  Duty.  "It  is 
impossible  that  I  should  succeed,"  was  his 
thought. 

However,  his  high  expectation  of  pleasure 
from  the  performance  came  back,  for  he  had 
resolutely  kept  away  from  even  the  dress  re 
hearsal,  and  the  entire  creative  force  of  his 
lines  was  about  to  come  to  him.  "In  a  few 
moments  my  characters  will  step  forth  from 
177 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

the  world  of  the  disembodied  into  the  mellow 
glow  of  the  foot-lights,"  he  thought,  and  the 
anticipated  joy  of  welcoming  them  warmed  his 
brain  and  the  chill  clutch  of  fear  fell  away 
from  his  throat.  The  dignity  and  the  glow, 
the  possibilities  of  the  theatre  as  a  temple  of 
literature  came  to  him  with  almost  humbling 
force. 

He  knew  that  Hugh  and  the  actors  had 
worked  night  and  day  towards  this  event — 
not  for  him  (he  realized  how  little  they  cared 
for  him),  but  for  Helen.  She,  dear  girl, 
thought  of  everybody,  and  forgot  herself  in 
the  event.  That  Westervelt  and  Hugh  had 
no  confidence  in  the  play,  even  after  dress 
rehearsal,  and  that  they  had  ignored  him  as 
he  came  into  the  theatre  he  knew,  but  he  put 
these  slights  aside.  Westervelt  was  busy  in 
cessantly  explaining  to  his  intimates  and  to 
the  critics  that  he  no  longer  shared  in  Meri- 
val's  "grazy  schemes.  She  guarantees  me, 
orderwise  I  would  glose  my  theatre,"  he  said, 
with  wheezy  reiteration. 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

The  first  scene  opened  brilliantly  in  the 
home  of  Calvin  Wentworth,  a  millionaire 
mine -owner.  Into  the  garish  and  vulgarly 
ostentatious  reception-room  a  pale,  sweet  slip 
of  a  girl  drifted,  with  big  eyes  shining  with  joy 
of  her  home-coming.  Some  of  the  auditors 
again  failed  to  recognize  the  great  actress,  so 
wonderful  was  her  transformation  in  look  and 
manner.  The  critics  themselves,  dazed  for  a 
moment,  led  in  the  cheer  which  rose.  This 
warmed  the  house  to  a  genial  glow,  and  the 
play  started  with  spirit. 

Helen,  deeply  relieved  to  see  Douglass  in  the 
box,  advanced  towards  him,  and  their  eyes 
met  for  an  instant  in  a  lovers'  greeting. 
Again  that  subtle  interchange  of  fire  took 
place.  She  looked  marvellously  young  and 
light-hearted ;  it  was  hard  to  believe  that  she 
was  worn  with  work  and  weakened  by  anxiety. 
Her  eyes  were  bright  and  her  hands  like  lilies. 

The  act  closed  with  a  very  novel  piece  of 
business  and  some  very  unusual  lines  passing 
between  Enid  and  Sidney,  her  lover.  Towards 
179 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

this  passage  Douglass  now  leaned,  uplifted 
by  a  sense  of  power,  exulting  in  Helen's  dis 
cernment,  which  had  enabled  her  to  realize, 
almost  perfectly,  his  principal  characters. 
He  had  not  begun  to  perceive  and  suffer  from 
the  shortcomings  of  her  support;  but  when 
Enid  left  the  stage  for  a  few  minutes,  the  fum 
bling  of  the  subordinate  actors  stung  and  irri 
tated  him.  They  had  the  wrong  accent, 
they  roared  where  they  should  have  been 
strong  and  quiet,  and  the  man  who  played 
Sidney  stuttered  and  drawled,  utterly  un 
like  the  character  of  the  play. 

"Oh,  the  wooden  ass!"  groaned  Douglass. 
"  He'll  ruin  the  piece."  A  burning  rage  swept 
over  him.  So  much  depended  on  this  per 
formance,  and  now — "I  should  have  directed 
the  rehearsals.  I  was  a  fool  to  neglect  them. 
Why  does  she  keep  the  sot?"  And  part  of 
his  anger  flowed. out  towards  the  star. 

Helen,  returning,  restored  the  illusion,  so 
complete  was  her  assumption  of  the  part,  and 
the  current  set  swiftly  towards  that  unparal- 
180 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

leled  ending,  those  deeply  significant  lines 
which  had  come  to  the  author  only  late  in  the 
week,  but  which  formed,  indeed,  the  very  key 
to  Sidney's  character  —  they  were  his  chief 
enthusiasm  in  this  act,  suggesting,  as  they 
did,  so  much.  Tingling,  aching  with  pleasur 
able  suspense,  the  author  waited. 

The  curtain  fell  on  a  totally  different  effect 
—with  Sidney  reading  utterly  different  lines ! 

For  a  moment  the  author  sat  stunned,  un 
able  to  comprehend  what  had  happened.  At 
last  the  revelation  came.  "They  have  failed 
to  incorporate  the  changes  I  made.  They 
have  gone  back  to  the  weak,  trashy  ending 
which  I  discarded.  They  have  ruined  the 
scene  utterly !"  and,  looking  at  two  of  the  chief 
critics,  he  caught  them  in  the  act  of  laughing 
evilly,  even  as  they  applauded. 

With  face  set  in  rage,  he  made  his  way 
back  of  the  curtain  towards  Helen's  room. 
She  met  him  at  the  door,  her  face  shining 
with  joy.  "  It's  going!  It's  going!"  she  cried 
out,  gleefully. 

181 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

His  reply  was  like  a  blow  in  the  face. 
"Why  didn't  you  incorporate  that  new  end 
ing  of  the  act?"  he  asked,  with  bitter  harsh 
ness. 

Helen  staggered,  and  her  hands  rose  as  if 
to  shield  herself  from  violence.  She  stam 
mered,  "I — I — I — couldn't.  You  see,  the 
lines  came  so  late.  They  would  have  thrown 
us  all  out.  I  will  do  so  to-morrow,"  she 
added. 

" To-morrow!"  he  answered,  through  his  set 
teeth.  "Why  to-morrow?  To-night  is  the 
time.  Don't  you  see  I'm  staking  my  reputa 
tion  on  to-night?  To-night  we  win  or  lose. 
The  house  is  full  of  critics.  They  will  write 
of  what  we  do,  not  of  what  we  are  going  to 
do."  He  began  to  pace  up  and  down,  trem 
bling  with  disappointment  and  fury.  He 
turned  suddenly.  "  How  about  the  second 
act?  Did  you  make  those  changes  in  Sidney's 
lines?  I  infer  not,"  he  added,  with  a  sneer. 

Helen  spoke  with  difficulty,  her  bosom 
heaving,  her  eyes  fixed  in  wonder  and  pain 
182 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

on  his  face.  "No.  How  could  I?  You 
brought  them  only  yesterday  morning;  they 
would  have  endangered  the  whole  act." 
Then,  as  the  indignity,  the  injustice,  the  burn 
ing  shame  of  his  assault  forced  themselves 
into  her  mind,  she  flamed  out  in  reproach: 
"Why  did  you  come  back  here  at  all?  Why 
didn't  you  stay  away,  as  you  did  before  ?  You 
are  cruel,  heartless!"  The  tears  dimmed  her 
eyes.  "  You've  ruined  my  whole  perform 
ance.  You've  broken  my  heart.  Have  you 
no  soul — no  sense  of  honor?  Go  away!  I 
hate  you!  I'll  never  speak  to  you  again!  I 
hate  you!"  And  she  turned,  leaving  him 
dumb  and  staring,  in  partial  realization  of 
his  selfish,  brutal  demands. 

Hugh  approached  him  with  lowering  brows 
and  clinched  hands.  "You've  done  it  now. 
You've  broken  her  nerve,  and  she'll  fail  in  her 
part.  Haven't  you  any  sense?  We  pick  you 
off  the  street  and  feed  you  and  clothe  you — 
and  do  your  miserable  plays — and  you  rush  in 
here  and  strike  my  sister,  Helen  Merival,  in 

183 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

the  face.  I  ought  to  kick  you  into  the 
street!0 

Douglass  stood  through  this  like  a  man 
whose  brain  is  benumbed  by  the  crashing 
echoes  of  a  thunderbolt,  hardly  aware  of 
the  fury  of  the  speaker,  but  this  final 
threat  cleared  his  mind  and  stung  him  into 
reply. 

"You  are  at  liberty  to  try  that,"  he  an 
swered,  and  an  answering  ferocity  shone  in 
his  eyes.  "I  gave  you  this  play;  it's  good 
work,  and,  properly  done,  would  succeed. 
Ruin  it  if  you  want  to.  I  am  done  with  it 
and  you." 

"  Thank  God  I"  exclaimed  the  brother,  as  the 
playwright  turned  away.  "  Good  riddance  to 
a  costly  acquaintance." 

Hardly  had  the  street  door  clapped  behind 
the  blinded  author  when  Helen,  white  and  agi 
tated,  reappeared,  breathlessly  asking,  "  Where 
is  he;  has  he  gone?" 

"Yes;  I  am  glad  to  say  he  has." 

"Call  him  back — quick!  Don't  let  him  go 
184 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

away  angry.  I  must  see  him  again!  Go, 
bring  him  back!" 

Hugh  took  her  by  the  arm.  "  What  do  you 
intend  to  do — give  him  another  chance  to 
insult  you?  He  isn't  worth  another  thought 
from  you.  Let  him  go,  and  his  plays  with 
him." 

The  orchestra,  roaring  on  its  finale,  ended 
with  a  crash.  Hugh  lifted  his  hand  in  warn 
ing.  "  There  goes  the  curtain,  Helen.  Go  on. 
Don't  let  him  kill  your  performance.  Go  on !" 
And  he  took  her  by  the  arm. 

The  training  as  well  as  the  spirit  and  quality 
of  the  actress  reasserted  their  dominion,  and 
as  she  walked  out  upon  the  stage  not  even 
the  searching  glare  of  the  foot-lights  could 
reveal  the  cold  shadow  which  lay  about  her 
heart. 

When  the  curtain  fell  on  the  final  " picture" 
she  fairly  collapsed,  refusing  to  take  the  cur 
tain  call  which  a  goodly  number  of  her  auditors 
insisted  upon.  "  I'm  too  tired,"  she  made  an 
swer  to  Hugh.  "Too  heart-sick,"  she  ad- 
185 


THB   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

mitted  to  herself,  for  Douglass  was  gone  with 
angry  lights  in  his  eyes,  bearing  bitter  and 
accusing  words  in  his  ears.  The  temple  of 
amusement  was  at  the  moment  a  place  of  sor 
row,  of  despair. 


XVI 

OUGLASS  knew  before  he  had 
set  foot  upon  the  pavement 
that  his  life  was  blasted,  that 
his  chance  of  success  and  Hel 
en's  love  were  gone,  forfeited 
by  his  own  egotism,  his  insane  selfishness; 
but  it  was  only  a  half-surrender;  something 
very  stark  and  unyielding  rose  within  him, 
preventing  his  return  to  ask  forgiveness.  The 
scorn,  the  contempt  of  Hugh's  words,  and  the 
lines  of  loathing  appearing  for  the  first  time 
in  Helen's  wonderfully  sensitive  face  burned 
each  moment  deeper  into  his  soul.  The  sor 
rows  of  Enid's  world  rose  like  pale  clouds 
above  the  immovable  mountains  of  his  shame 
and  black  despair. 

13  187 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

He  did  not  doubt  for  a  moment  but  that 
this  separation  was  final.  "  After  such  a  rev 
elation  of  my  character,"  he  confessed,  "she 
can  do  nothing  else  but  refuse  to  see  me.  I 
have  only  myself  to  blame.  I  was  insane," 
and  he  groaned  with  his  torment.  ''She  is 
right.  Hugh  is  right  in  defending  his  house 
hold  against  me.  My  action  was  that  of  a 
fool — a  hideous,  egotistic  fool." 

Seeking  refuge  in  his  room,  he  faced  his 
future  in  nerveless  dejection.  His  little  store 
of  money  was  gone,  and  his  profession,  long 
abandoned,  seemed  at  the  moment  a  broken 
staff — his  place  on  the  press  in  doubt.  What 
would  his  good  friend  say  to  him  now  when  he 
asked  for  a  chance  to  earn  his  bread  ?  He  had 
flouted  the  critics,  the  dramatic  departments 
of  all  the  papers.  In  his  besotted  self-confi 
dence  he  had  cast  away  all  his  best  friends, 
and  with  these  reflections  came  the  complete 
revelation  of  Helen's  kindness — and  her  glit 
tering  power.  Back  upon  him  swept  a  reali 
zation  of  the  paradise  in  which  he  had  lived, 
1*8 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

in  whose  air  his  egotism  had  expanded  like 
a  mushroom. 

Leagued  with  her,  enjoying  her  bounty 
and  sharing  in  the  power  which  her  success 
had  brought  her,  he  had  imagined  himself  a 
great  writer,  a  man  with  a  compelling  message 
to  his  fellows.  It  seemed  only  necessary  to 
reach  out  his  hand  in  order  to  grasp  a  chaplet 
— a  crown.  With  her  the  world  seemed  his 
debtor.  Now  he  was  a  thing  cast  off,  a  broken 
boy  grovelling  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder  of 
fame. 

While  he  withered  over  his  defeat  the  elec 
tric  cars,  gigantic  insects  of  the  dawn,  began 
to  howl  and  the  trains  on  the  elevated  railway 
thundered  by.  The  city's  voice,  which  never 
ceases,  but  which  had  sunk  to  a  sleepy  mur 
mur,  suddenly  awoke,  and  with  clattering, 
snarling  crescendo  roar  announced  the  coming 
of  the  tides  of  toilers.  "  I  am  facing  the  day," 
he  said  to  himself,  "  and  the  papers  containing 
the  contemptuous  judgments  of  my  critics 
are  being  delivered  in  millions  to  my  fellow- 
189 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

citizens.  This  thing  I  have  gained  —  I  am 
rapidly  becoming  infamous." 

His  weakness,  his  shuddering  fear  made  his 
going  forth  a  torture.  Even  the  bell-boy  who 
brought  his  papers  seemed  to  exult  over  his 
misery,  but  by  sternly  sending  him  about  an 
errand  the  worn  playwright  managed  to  over 
awe  and  silence  him,  and  then,  with  the  city's 
leading  papers  before  him,  he  sat  down  to  his 
bitter  medicine.  As  he  had  put  aside  the 
judgments  of  Lillian's  Duty,  with  contemptu 
ous  gesture,  so  now  he  searched  out  every  line, 
humbly  admitting  the  truth  of  every  criti 
cism,  instructed  even  by  the  lash  of  those 
who  hated  him. 

The  play  had  closed  unexpectedly  well,  one 
paper  admitted,  but  it  could  never  succeed. 
It  was  not  dramatic  of  construction.  An 
other  admitted  that  it  was  a  novel  and  pretty 
entertainment,  a  kind  of  prose  poem,  a  fantasy 
of  the  present,  but  without  wide  appeal. 
Others  called  it  a  moonshine  monologue — 
that  a  girl  at  once  so  naive  and  so  powerful 
190 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

was  impossible.  All  united  in  praise  of  Helen, 
however,  and,  as  though  by  agreement,  be 
wailed  her  desertion  of  the  roles  in  which  she 
won  great  renown.  "  Our  advice,  given  in  the 
friendliest  spirit,  is  this :  go  back  to  the  twilight 
of  the  past,  to  the  costume  play.  Get  out  of 
the  garish  light  of  to-day.  The  present  is 
suited  only  for  a  kind  of  crass  comedy  or 
Bowery  melodrama.  Only  the  past,  the  for 
eign,  affords  setting  for  the  large  play  of  hu 
man  passion  which  Helen  Merival's  great  art 
demands." 

"You  are  cheating  us,"  wrote  another. 
"  There  are  a  thousand  little  ingenues  who  can 
play  acceptably  this  goody-goody  Enid,  but 
the  best  of  them  would  be  lost  in  the  large 
folds  of  your  cloak  in  The  Baroness  Telka." 

Only  one  wrote  in  almost  unmeasured 
praise,  and  his  words,  so  well  chosen,  salved 
the  smarting  wounds  of  the  dramatist.  "  Those 
who  have  seen  Miss  Merival  only  as  the  melo 
drama  queen  or  the  adventuress  in  jet-black 
evening  dress  have  a  surprise  in  store  for 
191 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

them.  Her  Enid  is  a  dream  of  cold,  chaste 
girlhood — a  lily  with  heart  of  fire — in  whose 
tender,  virginal  eyes  the  lust  and  cruelty  of 
the  world  arouse  only  pity  and  wonder.  So 
complete  was  Miss  Merival's  investiture  of 
herself  in  this  part  that  no  one  recognized  her 
as  she  stepped  on  the  stage.  For  a  moment 
even  her  best  friends  sat  silent."  And  yet 
this  friend  ended  like  the  rest  in  predicting 
defeat.  "  The  play  is  away  over  the  heads  of 
any  audience  likely  to  come  to  see  it.  The  be- 
ringed  and  complacent  wives  of  New  York  and 
their  wine-befuddled  husbands  will  find  little 
to  entertain  them  in  this  idyl  of  modern  life. 
As  for  the  author,  George  Douglass,  we  have 
only  this  to  say :  He  is  twenty  years  ahead  of 
his  time.  Let  him  go  on  writing  his  best 
and  be  patient.  By-and-by,  when  we  have 
time  to  think  of  other  things  than  money, 
when  our  wives  have  ceased  to  struggle  for 
social  success,  when  the  reaction  to  a  simpler 
and  truer  life  comes — and  it  is  coming — then 
the  quality  of  such  a  play  as  Enid's  Choice 
192 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

will  give  its  author  the  fame  and  the  living 
he  deserves." 

The  tears  came  to  Douglass's  eyes.  "  Good 
old  Jim!  He  knows  I  need  comfort  this 
morning.  He's  prejudiced  in  my  favor— 
everybody  will  see  that;  and  yet  there  is 
truth  in  what  he  says.  I  will  go  to  him  and 
ask  for  work,  for  I  must  get  back  to  earning  a 
weekly  wage." 

He  went  down  and  out  into  the  street.  The 
city  seemed  unusually  brilliant  and  uncaring. 
From  every  quarter  of  the  suburbs  floods  of 
people  were  streaming  in  to  work  or  to  shop, 
quite  unknowing  of  any  one's  misfortunes  but 
their  own,  each  intent  on  earning  a  living  or 
securing  a  bargain.  "How  can  I  appeal  to 
these  motes?"  he  asked  himself.  "By  what 
magic  can  I  lift  myself  out  of  this  press  to  earn 
a  living — out  of  this  common  drudgery  ?"  He 
studied  the  faces  in  the  coffee-house  where  he 
sat.  "  How  many  of  these  citizens  are  capable 
of  understanding  for  a  moment  Enid's  Choice  ? 
Is  there  any  subject  holding  an  interest  com- 
193 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

mon  to  them  and  to  me  which  would  not  in  a 
sense  be  degrading  in  me  to  dramatize  for  their 
pleasure?" 

This  was  the  question,  and  though  his  break 
fast  and  a  walk  on  the  avenue  cleared  his 
brain,  it  did  not  solve  his  problem.  "They 
don't  want  my  ideas  on  architecture.  My 
dramatic  criticism  interests  but  a  few.  My 
plays  are  a  proved  failure.  What  is  to  be 
done?" 

Mingled  with  these  gloomy  thoughts,  con 
stantly  recurring  like  the  dull,  far-off  boom  of  a 
sombre  bell,  was  the  consciousness  of  his  loss 
of  Helen.  He  did  not  think  of  returning  to 
ask  forgiveness.  "I  do  not  deserve  it,"  he 
repeated  each  time  his  heart  prompted  a 
message  to  her.  "She  is  well  rid  of  me.  I 
have  been  a  source  of  loss,  of  trouble,  and 
vexation  to  her.  She  will  be  glad  of  my  self- 
revelation."  Nevertheless,  when  he  found  her 
letter  waiting  for  him  in  his  box  at  the  office 
he  was  smitten  with  sudden  weakness.  "  What 
would  she  say  ?  She  has  every  reason  to  hate 

194 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

me,  to  cast  me  and  my  play  to  the  winds. 
Has  she  done  so?     I  cannot  blame  her." 

Safe  in  his  room,  he  opened  the  letter,  the 
most  fateful  that  had  ever  come  to  him  in  all 
his  life.  The  very  lines  showed  the  agitation 
of  the  writer: 

"My  DEAR  AUTHOR, — Pardon  me  for  my 
harshness  last  night,  and  come  to  see  me  at 
once.  I  was  nervous  and  anxious,  as  you 
were.  I  should  have  made  allowances  for  the 
strain  you  were  under.  Please  forgive  me. 
Come  and  lunch,  as  usual,  and  talk  of  the 
play.  I  believe  in  it,  in  spite  of  all.  It  must 
make  its  own  public,  but  I  believe  it  will  do 
so.  Come  and  let  me  hear  you  say  you  have 
forgotten  my  words  of  last  night.  I  didn't 
really  mean  them;  you  must  have  known 
that." 

His  throat  rilled  with  tenderness  and  his 
head  bowed  in  humility  as  he  read  these  good, 
sweet,  womanly  lines,  and  for  the  moment  he 

195 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

was  ready  to  go  to  her  and  receive  pardon 
kneeling.  But  as  he  thought  of  the  wrong  he 
had  done  her,  the  misfortune  he  had  brought 
upon  her,  a  stubborn,  unaccountable  resolu 
tion  hardened  his  heart.  "  No,  I  will  not  go 
back  till  I  can  go  as  her  equal.  I  am  broken 
and  in  disgrace  now.  I  will  not  burden  her 
generosity  further." 

The  thought  of  making  his  peace  with 
Hugh,  of  meeting  Westervelt's  hard  stare, 
aided  this  resolution,  and,  sitting  at  his  desk, 
he  wrote  a  long  and  passionate  letter,  wherein 
he  delineated  with  unsparing  hand  his  miser 
able  failure.  He  took  a  pride  and  a  sort  of 
morbid  pleasure  in  punishing  himself,  in  de 
nying  himself  any  further  joy  in  her  company. 

"  It  is  better  for  you  and  better  for  me  that 
we  do  not  meet  again — at  least  till  I  have  won 
the  tolerance  of  your  brother  and  manager 
and  my  own  self-respect.  The  work  I  have 
done  is  honest  work;  I  will  not  admit  that  it 
is  wholly  bad,  but  I  cannot  meet  Hugh  again 
196 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

till  I  can  demand  consideration.  It  was  not 
so  much  the  words  he  used  as  the  tone.  I 
was  helpless  in  resenting  it.  That  I  am  a 
beggar,  a  dangerous  influence,  I  admit.  I  am 
appalled  at  the  thought  of  what  I  have  done 
to  injure  you.  Cast  me  overboard.  Not  even 
your  beauty,  your  great  fame,  can  make  my 
work  vital  to  the  public.  I  am  too  perverse, 
too  individual.  There  is  good  in  me,  but  it 
is  evil  to  you.  I  no  longer  care  what  they  say 
of  me,  but  I  feel  every  word  derogatory  of 
you  as  if  it  were  a  red-hot  point  of  steel.  I 
did  not  sleep  last  night;  I  spent  the  time  in 
reconstructing  myself.  I  confessed  my  griev 
ous  sins,  and  I  long  to  do  penance.  This  play 
is  also  a  failure.  I  grew  cold  with  hate  of 
myself  last  night  as  I  thought  of  the  irrepa 
rable  injury  I  had  done  to  you.  I  here  relin 
quish  all  claim  to  both  pieces ;  they  are  yours 
to  do  with  as  you  like.  Take  them,  rewrite 
them,  play  them,  or  burn  them,  as  you  will. 
"You  see,  I  am  very,  very  humble.  I  have 
put  my  foolish  pride  underfoot.  I  am  not 
197 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

broken.  I  am  still  very  proud  and,  I  fear, 
self -conceited,  in  spite  of  my  severe  lesson. 
Enid  is  beautiful,  and  I  know  it,  and  it  helps 
me  write  this  letter,  but  I  have  no  right  to 
ask  even  friendship  from  you.  My  proved 
failure  as  a  playwright  robs  me  of  every 
chance  of  meeting  you  on  equal  terms.  I 
want  to  repay  you,  I  must  repay  you,  for 
what  you  have  done.  If  I  could  write  now, 
it  would  be  not  to  please  myself,  but  to  please 
you,  to  help  you  regain  your  dominion.  I 
want  to  see  you  the  radiant  one  again,  speak 
ing  to  throngs  of  happy  people.  If  I  could  by 
any  sacrifice  of  myself  call  back  the  homage 
of  the  critics  and  place  you  where  I  found  you, 
the  acknowledged  queen  of  American  actress 
es,  I  would  do  it.  But  I  am  helpless.  I  shall 
not  speak  or  write  to  you  again  till  I  can  come 
with  some  gift  in  my  hand — some  recompense 
for  your  losses  through  me.  I  have  been  a 
malign  influence  in  your  life.  I  am  in  mad 
despair  when  I  think  of  you  playing  to  cold 
and  empty  houses.  I  am  going  back  to  the 
198 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

West  to  do  sash  factories  and  wheat  eleva 
tors;  these  are  my  metier.  You  are  the  one 
to  grant  pardon;  I  am  the  malefactor.  I  am 
taking  myself  out  of  your  world.  Forgive  me 
and — forget  me.  Hugh  was  right.  My  very 
presence  is  a  curse  to  you.  Good-bye." 


XVII 

HIS  letter  came  to  Helen  with 
her  coffee,  and  the  reading  of  it 
blotted  out  the  glory  of  the 
morning,  filling  her  eyes  with 
smarting  tears.  It  put  a  sud 
den  ache  into  her  heart,  a  fierce  resentment. 
At  the  moment  his  assumed  humbleness,  his 
self -derision,  his  confession  of  failure  irritated 
her. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  bend  and  bow,"  she 
thought,  as  if  speaking  to  him.  "  I'd  rather 
you  were  fierce  and  hard,  as  you  were  last 
night."  She  read  on  to  the  end,  so  deeply 
moved  that  she  could  scarcely  see  the  lines. 
Her  resentment  melted  away  and  a  pity,  pro- 
200 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

found  and  almost  maternal,  filled  her  heart. 
"Poor  boy!  What  could  Hugh  have  said  to 
him!  I  will  know.  It  has  been  a  bitter  ex 
perience  for  him.  And  is  this  the  end  of  our 
good  days?" 

With  this  internal  question  a  sense  of  vital 
loss  took  hold  upon  her.  For  the  first  time 
in  her  life  the  future  seemed  desolate  and  her 
past  futile.  Back  upon  her  a  throng  of 
memories  came  rushing — memories  of  the 
high  and  splendid  moments  they  had  spent 
together.  First  of  all  she  remembered  him 
as  the  cold,  stern,  handsome  stranger  of  that 
first  night — that  night  when  she  learned  that 
his  coldness  was  assumed,  his  sternness  a 
mask.  She  realized  once  again  that  at  this 
first  meeting  he  had  won  her  by  his  voice,  by 
his  hand -clasp,  by  the  swiftness  and  fervor 
of  his  speech;  he  had  dominated  her,  swept 
her  from  her  feet. 

And  now  this  was  the  end  of  all  their  plans, 
their  dreams  of  conquest.  There  could  be 
no  doubt  of  his  meaning  in  this  letter :  he  had 
201 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

cut  himself  off  from  her,  perversely,  bitterly, 
in  despair  and  deep  humiliation.  She  did  not 
doubt  his  ability  to  keep  his  word.  There 
was  something  inexorable  in  him.  She  had 
felt  it  before — a  sort  of  blind,  self -torturing 
obstinacy  which  would  keep  him  to  his  vow 
though  he  bled  for  every  letter. 

And  yet  she  wrote  again,  patiently,  sweetly, 
asking  him  to  come  to  her.  "I  don't  know 
what  Hugh  said  to  you — no  matter,  forgive 
him.  We  were  all  at  high  tension  last  night. 
I  know  you  didn't  intend  to  hurt  me,  and  I 
have  put  it  all  away.  I  will  forget  your  re 
proach,  but  I  cannot  have  you  go  out  of  my 
life  in  this  way.  It  is  too  cruel,  too  hopeless. 
Come  to  me  again,  your  good,  strong,  buoyant 
self,  and  let  us  plan  for  the  future." 

This  message,  so  high,  so  divinely  forgiving, 
came  back  to  her  unopened,  with  a  line  from 
the  clerk  on  the  back — "  Mr.  Douglass  left  the 
city  this  evening.  No  address." 

This  laconic  message  struck  her  like  a  blow. 
It  was  as  if  Douglass  himself  had  refused  her 
202 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

outstretched  hand.  Her  nerves,  tense  and 
quivering,  gave  way.  Her  resentment  flamed 
up  again. 

"Very  well."  She  tore  the  note  in  small 
pieces,  slowly,  with  painful  precision,  as  if 
by  so  doing  she  were  tearing  and  blowing 
away  the  great  passion  which  had  grown  up 
in  her  heart.  "  I  was  mistaken  in  you.  You 
are  unworthy  of  my  confidence.  After  all, 
you  are  only  a  weak,  egotistical  '  genius  '- 
morbid,  selfish.  Hugh  is  right.  You  have 
proved  my  evil  genius.  You  skulked  the  night 
of  your  first  play.  You  alternately  ignored 
and  made  use  of  me — as  you  pleased — and 
after  all  I  had  done  for  you  you  flouted  me 
in  the  face  of  my  company."  She  flung  the 
fragments  of  the  note  into  the  fire.  "There 
are  your  words — all  counting  for  nothing." 

And  she  rose  and  walked  out  to  her  brother 
and  her  manager,  determined  that  no  sign  of 
her  suffering  and  despair  should  be  written 
upon  her  face. 

The  day  dragged  wearily  forward,  and  when 
*4  203 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

Westervelt  came  in  with  a  sorrowful  tale  of 
diminishing  demand  for  seats  she  gave  her 
consent  to  a  return  to  Baroness  Telka  on 
the  following  Monday  morning. 

The  manager  was  jubilant.  "Now  we  will 
see  a  theatre  once  more.  I  tough t  I  vas  run 
ning  a  church  or  a  school.  Now  we  will  see 
carriages  at  the  door  again  and  some  dress- 
suits  pefore  the  orchestra.  Eh,  Hugh?" 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you  come  to  your  senses," 
said  Hugh,  ignoring  Westervelt.  "That 
chap  had  us  all- 
She  stopped  him.  "Not  a  word  of  that. 
Mr.  Douglass  was  right  and  his  plays  are 
right,  but  the  public  is  not  yet  risen  to  such 
work.  I  admire  his  work  just  as  much  now 
as  ever.  I  am  only  doubting  the  public.  If 
there  is  no  sign  of  increasing  interest  on  Sat 
urday  we  will  take  Enid  off.  That  is  all  I 
will  say  now." 

It   seemed   a   pitiful,    a   monstrous   thing. 
Hugh  made  no  further  protest,  but  that  his 
queenly     sister,     after     walking     untouched 
204 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

through  swarms  of  rich  and  talented  suitors, 
should  fall  a  victim  to  a  poor  and  unknown 
architect,  who  was  a  failure  at  his  own  busi 
ness  as  well  as  a  playwright. 

Mrs.  MacDavitt,  who  stood  quite  in  awe  of 
her  daughter,  and  who  feared  the  sudden,  hot 
temper  of  her  son,  passed  through  some  trying 
hours  as  the  days  went  by.  Helen  was  plainly 
suffering,  and  the  mother  cautioned  the  son 
to  speak  gently.  "  I  fear  she  prized  him  high 
ly — the  young  Douglass,"  she  said,  "and,  I 
confess,  I  had  a  kin'  o'  liking  for  the  lad.  He 
was  so  keen  and  resolved." 

"  He  was  keen  to  '  do '  us,  mother,  and  when 
he  found  he  couldn't  he  pulled  his  freight. 
He  could  write,  I'll  admit  that,  but  he  wouldn't 
write  what  people  wanted  to  hear.  He  was 
too  badly  stuck  on  his  own  'genius.' ' 

Helen  went  to  her  task  at  the  theatre  with 
out  heart,  though  she  pretended  to  a  greater 
enthusiasm  than  ever.  But  each  time  she 
entered  upon  the  second  act  of  the  play  a 
mysterious  and  solacing  pleasure  came  to  her. 
205 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

She  enjoyed  the  words  with  which  Enid  ques 
tions  the  life  of  her  richest  and  most  powerful 
suitor.  The  mingled  shrewdness,  simplicity, 
and  sweetness  of  this  scene  always  filled  her 
with  a  new  sense  of  Douglass's  power  of  div 
ination.  Indeed,  she  closed  the  play  each 
night  with  a  sense  of  being  more  deeply  in 
debted  to  him  as  well  as  a  feeling  of  having 
been  near  him.  Once  she  saw  a  face  strange 
ly  like  his  in  the  upper  gallery,  and  the  blood 
tingled  round  her  heart,  and  she  played  the 
remainder  of  the  act  with  mind  distraught. 
"  Can  it  be  possible  that  he  is  still  in  the  city  ?" 
she  asked  herself. 


XVIII 

was,  indeed,  the  playwright. 
Each  night  he  left  his  board 
ing-place,  drawn  by  an  impulse 
he  could  not  resist,  to  walk 
slowly  to  and  fro  opposite  the 
theatre  entrance,  calculating  with  agonized 
eye  the  meagre  numbers  of  those  who  en 
tered.  At  times  he  took  his  stand  near  the 
door  in  a  shadowy  nook  (with  coat -collar 
rolled  high  about  his  ears) ,  in  order  to  observe 
the  passing  stream,  hoping,  exulting,  and  suf 
fering  alternately  as  groups  from  the  crowd 
paused  for  a  moment  to  study  the  displayed 
photographs,  only  to  pass  on  to  other  amuse 
ment  with  some  careless  allusion  to  the  fallen 
star. 

207 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

This  hurt  him  worst  of  all — that  these  motes, 
these  cheap  little  boys  and  girls,  could  now 
sneer  at  or  pity  Helen  Merival.  "I  brought 
her  to  this,"  he  repeated,  with  morbid  sense 
of  power.  "  When  she  met  me  she  was  queen 
of  the  city;  now  she  is  an  object  of  pity." 

This  feeling  of  guilt,  this  egotism  deepened 
each  night  as  he  watched  the  city's  pleasure- 
seekers  pace  past  the  door.  It  was  of  no  avail 
to  say  that  the  few  who  entered  were  of  higher 
type  than  the  many  who  passed.  "The  pro 
fession  which  Helen  serves  cannot  live  on  the 
wishes  of  the  few,  the  many  must  be  pleased. 
To  become  exclusive  in  appeal  is  to  die  of 
hunger.  This  is  why  the  sordid,  common 
place  playwrights  and  the  business-like  man 
agers  succeed  while  the  idealists  fail.  There 
is  an  iron  law  of  limitation  here." 

"That  is  why  my  influence  is  destructive," 
he  added,  and  was  reassured  in  the  justice  of 
his  resolution  to  take  himself  out  of  Helen's 
life.  "  Everything  I  stand  for  is  inimical  to 
her  interests.  To  follow  my  path  is  to  eat 
208 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

dry  crusts,  to  be  without  comfort.  To  amuse 
this  great,  moiling  crowd,  to  dance  for  them 
like  a  monkey,  to  pander  to  their  base  pas 
sions,  this  means  success,  and  so  long  as  her 
acting  does  not  smirch  her  own  soul  what  does 
it  matter  ?"  In  such  wise  he  sometimes  argued 
in  his  bitterness  and  wrath. 

From  the  brilliant  street,  from  the  gay 
crowds  rolling  on  in  search  of  witless  farce- 
comedy  and  trite  melodrama,  the  brooding 
idealist  climbed  one  night  to  the  gallery  to 
overlook  a  gloomy,  empty  auditorium.  Con 
cealing  himself  as  best  he  could,  he  sat  through 
the  performance,  tortured  by  some  indefinable 
appeal  in  Helen's  voice,  hearing  with  cold  and 
sinking  heart  the  faint  applause  from  the  or 
chestra  chairs  which  used  to  roar  with  bravos 
and  sparkle  with  the  clapping  of  white  and 
jewelled  hands. 

There  was  something  horrifying  in  this 
change.  In  his  morbid  and  overwrought  con 
dition  it  seemed  murderous.  At  last  a  new 
resolution  set  his  lips  in  a  stern  line,  and  when 
209 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

the  curtain  fell  on  the  last  act  his  mind  was 
made  up.  "I  will  write  one  more  play  for  the 
sensation-loving  fools,  for  these  flabby  busi 
ness  men  and  their  capon-stuffed  wives.  I 
will  mix  them  a  dramatic  cocktail  that  will 
make  them  sit  up.  I  will  create  a  dazzling 
role  for  Helen,  one  that  will  win  back  all  her 
old-time  admirers.  They  shall  come  like  a 
roaring  tide,  and  she  shall  recoup  herself  for 
every  loss — in  purse  and  prestige." 

It  was  this  night,  when  his  face  was  white 
with  suffering,  that  Helen  caught  a  glimpse  of 
him  hanging  across  the  railing  of  the  upper 
balcony. 

He  went  no  more  to  see  her  play.  In  his 
small,  shabby  room  in  a  musty  house  on  one 
of  the  old  side  streets  he  set  to  work  on  his 
new  plan.  He  wrote  now  without  fervor, 
without  elation,  plodding  along  hour  after 
hour,  erasing,  interlining,  destroying,  re 
writing.  He  toiled  terribly.  He  permitted 
himself  no  fancy  flights.  He  calculated  now. 
"  I  must  have  a  young  and  beautiful  duchess 
210 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

or  countess , "  he  mused ,  bitterly .  ' '  Our  demo- 
cratic  public  loves  to  see  nobility.  She  must 
peril  her  honor  for  a  lover — a  wonderful  fellow 
of  the  middle-class,  not  royal,  but  near  it. 
The  princess  must  masquerade  in  a  man's 
clothing  for  some  high  purpose.  There  must 
be  a  lord  high  chamberlain  or  the  like  who 
discovers  her  on  this  mission  to  save  her  lover, 
and  who  uses  his  discovery  to  demand  her 
hand  in  marriage  for  his  son — " 

In  this  cynical  mood  he  worked,  sustained 
only  by  the  memory  of  ' '  The  Glittering  Wom 
an"  whose  power  and  beauty  had  once  daz 
zled  him.  Slowly  the  new  play  took  shape, 
and,  try  as  he  might,  he  could  not  keep  out  of  it 
a  line  now  and  then  of  real  drama — of  litera 
ture.  Each  act  was  designed  to  end  with  a 
clarion  call  to  the  passions,  and  he  was  per 
fectly  certain  that  the  curtain  would  rise  again 
and  again  at  the  close.  At  every  point  was 
glitter  and  the  rush  of  heroics. 

He  lived  sparely,  seeing  no  one,  going  out 
only  at  night  for  a  walk  in  the  square.  To 

211 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

send  to  his  brother  or  his  father  for  money  he 
would  not,  not  even  to  write  his  wonder 
working  drama.  His  letters  home,  while  brief, 
were  studiedly  confident  of  tone.  The  play 
acting  business  and  all  those  connected  with 
it  stood  very  remote  from  the  farming  vil 
lage  in  which  Dr.  Donald  Douglass  lived, 
and  when  he  read  from  his  son's  letters  ref 
erences  to  his  dramas  his  mind  took  but 
slight  hold  upon  the  words.  His  replies  were 
brief  and  to  the  point.  "  Go  back  to  your 
building  and  leave  the  play-actors  to  them 
selves.  They're  a  poor,  uneasy  lot  at  the 
best."  To  him  an  architect  was  a  man  who 
built  houses  and  barns,  with  a  personal  share 
in  the  physical  labor,  a  wholesome,  manly  busi 
ness.  The  son  understood  his  father's  preju 
dices,  and  they  formed  a  barrier  to  his  ap 
proach  when  in  need. 

On  the  morning  of  the  fifteenth  day  Ales- 
sandra  went  to  the  type -writer,  and  the 
weary  playwright  lifted  his  head  and  took  a 
full,  free  breath.  He  was  convinced  beyond 

212 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

any  question  that  this  melodrama  would 
please.  It  had  all  the  elements  which  he  de 
spised,  therefore  it  must  succeed.  His  desire 
to  see  Helen  now  overpowered  him.  Worn 
with  his  toil  and  exultant  in  his  freedom,  he 
went  out  into  the  street  to  see  what  the  world 
was  doing. 

Enid's  Choice  was  still  running.  A  slight 
gain  at  the  end  of  the  first  week  had  enabled 
Helen  to  withhold  her  surrender  to  mammon. 
The  second  week  increased  the  attendance, 
but  the  loss  on  the  two  plays  was  now  very 
heavy,  and  Hugh  and  Westervelt  and  all  her 
friends  as  well  urged  her  to  give  way  to  the 
imperious  public;  but  some  deep  loyalty  to 
Douglass,  some  reason  which  she  was  not  free 
to  give,  made  her  say,  "  No,  while  there  is 
the  slightest  hope  I  am  going  to  keep  on." 
To  her  mother  she  said:  "They  are  associ 
ated  in  my  mind  with  something  sweet  and 
fine — a  man's  aspiration.  They  taste  good  in 
my  mouth  after  all  these  years  of  rancid 
melodrama." 

213 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

To  herself  she  said:  "If  they  succeed — if 
they  win  the  public — my  lover  will  come  back. 
He  can  then  come  as  a  conqueror."  And  the 
hope  of  this,  the  almost  certain  happiness  and 
honor  which  awaited  them  both  led  her  to 
devise  new  methods  of  letting  the  great  non- 
theatre-going  public  know  that  in  George 
Douglass's  Enid  they  might  be  comforted — 
that  it  was,  indeed,  a  dramatic  sign  of  promise. 
"We  will  give  it  a  faithful  trial  here,  then  go 
on  the  road.  Life  is  less  strenuous  in  the 
smaller  towns — they  have  time  to  think." 

Hugh  and  Westervelt  counselled  against 
any  form  of  advertising  that  would  seem  to 
set  the  play  in  a  class  by  itself,  but  Helen, 
made  keen  by  her  suffering,  bluntly  replied: 
"You  are  both  wrong,  utterly  wrong.  Our 
only  possible  chance  of  success  lies  in  reaching 
that  vast,  sane,  thoughtful  public  which  sel 
dom  or  never  goes  to  the  theatre.  This  public 
very  properly  holds  a  prejudice  against  the 
theatrical  world,  but  it  will  welcome  a  play 
which  is  high  and  poetic  without  being  dull. 
214 


THE   LIGHT  OP  THE   STAR 

This  public  is  so  vast  it  makes  the  ordinary 
theatre  -  going  public  seem  but  a  handful. 
We  must  change  all  our  methods  of  printing." 

These  ideas  were  sourly  adopted  in  the 
third  week,  just  when  a  note  from  Douglass 
reached  her  by  the  hand  of  a  special  messenger. 
In  this  letter  he  said:  "I  have  completed  an 
other  play.  I  have  been  grubbing  night  and 
day  with  incessant  struggle  to  put  myself  and 
all  my  ideals  aside — to  give  the  public  what 
it  wants — to  win  your  old  admirers  back,  in 
order  that  I  might  see  you  playing  once  more 
to  crowded  and  brilliant  houses.  It  will  suc 
ceed  because  it  is  diametrically  opposed  to  all 
I  have  expressed.  It  is  my  sacrifice.  Will 
you  accept  it?  Will  you  read  my  play? 
Shall  I  send  it  to  you?" 

Something  went  out  from  this  letter  which 
hurt  Helen  deeply.  First  of  all  there  was  a 
certain  humble  aloofness  in  his  attitude  which 
troubled  her,  but  more  significant  still  was 
his  confessed  departure  from  his  ideals.  Her 
brave  and  splendid  lover  had  surrendered  to 
215 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

the  enemy — for  her  sake.  Her  first  impulse 
was  to  write  refusing  to  accept  his  sacrifice. 
But  on  second  thought  she  craftily  wrote:  "I 
do  not  like  to  think  of  you  writing  to  please 
the  public,  which  I  have  put  aside,  but  come 
and  bring  your  play.  I  cannot  believe  that 
you  have  really  written  down  to  a  melodra 
matic  audience.  What  I  will  do  I  cannot  say 
till  I  have  seen  your  piece.  Where  have  you 
kept  yourself  ?  Have  you  been  West  ?  Come 
and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

To  this  self-contained  note  he  replied  by 
sending  the  drama.  "  No,  I  cannot  come  till 
Hugh  and  you  have  read  and  accepted  this 
play.  I  want  your  manager  to  pass  on  Ales- 
sandra.  You  know  what  I  mean.  You  are 
an  idealist  like  myself.  You  will  condemn 
this  drama,  but  Westervelt  may  see  in  it  a 
chance  to  restore  the  glitter  to  his  theatre. 
Ask  them  both  to  read  it — without  letting 
them  know  who  wrote  it.  If  they  accept  it, 
then  I  can  meet  them  again  on  equal  terms. 
I  long  to  see  you  ;  but  I  am  in  disgrace 
216 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

and  infinitely  poorer  than  when  I  first  met 
you." 

Over  this  letter  Helen  pondered  long.  Her 
first  impulse  was  to  send  the  play  back  with 
out  reading  it,  but  her  love  suggested  another 
subterfuge.  "I  will  do  his  will,  and  if  Hugh 
and  Westervelt  find  the  play  acceptable  I  will 
share  in  his  triumph.  But  I  will  not  do  the 
play  except  as  a  last  resort — for  his  sake. 
Enid  is  more  than  holding  its  own.  So  long 
as  it  does  I  will  not  permit  him  to  lower  his 
splendid  powers." 

To  Hugh  she  carelessly  said:  "Here  is  an 
other  play — a  melodrama,  to  judge  from  the 
title.  Look  it  over  and  see  if  there  is  any 
thing  in  it." 

As  plays  were  constantly  coming  in  to  them, 
Hugh  took  this  one  quite  as  a  matter  of  routine, 
with  expectation  of  being  bored.  He  was  a 
little  surprised  next  morning  when  she  asked, 
"Did  you  look  into  that  manuscript?" 

He  answered :  "  No.     I  didn't  get  time." 

She  could  hardly  conceal  her  impatience. 
217 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

"  I  wish  you'd  go  over  it  this  morning.  From 
the  title  it's  one  of  those  middle-age  Italian 
things  that  costume  well." 

"Oh,  is  it?"  he  exclaimed.  "Well,  I'll  get 
right  at  it."  Her  interest  in  it  more  than  the 
title  moved  him.  It  was  a  most  hopeful  sign 
of  weakening  on  her  part. 

He  came  to  lunch  full  of  enthusiasm.  "  Say, 
sis,  that  play  is  a  corker.  There  is  a  part  in 
it  that  sees  the  Baroness  and  goes  her  one 
better.  If  the  last  act  keeps  up  we've  got  a 
prize-winner.  Who's  Edwin  Baxter,  any 
how?" 

Helen  quietly  stirred  her  tea.  "  I  never 
heard  the  name  before.  A  new  man  in  the 
theatrical  world,  apparently." 

"Well,  he's  all  right.  I'm  going  over  the 
whole  thing  again.  Have  you  read  it?" 

"  No,  I  thought  best  to  let  you  and  Wester- 
velt  decide  this .  time.  I  merely  glanced  at 
it." 

"Well,  it  looks  like  the  thing  to  pull  us  out 
of  our  hole." 

218 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

That  night  Westervelt  came  behind  the 
scenes  with  shining  face.  "I  hope  you  will 
consent  to  do  this  new  piece;  it  is  a  cracker- 
jack."  He  grew  cautious.  "It  really  is  an 
immensely  better  piece  of  work  than  The 
Baroness,  and  yet  it  has  elements  of  popular 
ity.  I  have  read  it  hastily.  I  shall  study  it 
to-night.  If  it  looks  as  big  to  me  to-morrow 
morning  as  now  I  will  return  to  the  old  ar 
rangement  with  you — if  you  wish." 

"How  is  the  house  to-night?"  she  asked. 

His  face  dropped.  "No  better  than  last 
night."  He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Oh, 
ten  or  fifteen  dollars,  maybe.  We  can  play 
all  winter  to  two  hundred  dollars  a  night  with 
this  play.  I  do  not  understand  such  audiences. 
Apparently  each  man  sends  just  one  to  take 
his  place.  There  is  no  increase." 

"  Well,  report  to  me  to-morrow  about  Ales- 
sandra,  then  I  will  decide  upon  the  whole 
matter." 

In  spite  of  herself  she  shared  in  the  glow 
which  shone  on  the  faces  of  her  supports,  for 
is  219 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

the  word  had  been  passed  to  the  leading  mem 
bers  that  they  were  going  back  to  the  old 
drama.  "  They've  found  a  new  play — a  cork 
ing  melodrama." 

Royleston  straightened.  "What's  the  sub 
ject?" 

"Middle-age  Italian  intrigue,  so  Hugh  says 
-bully  costumes  —  a  wonder  of  a  part  for 
Merival." 

"  Then  we  are  on  velvet  again,"  said  Royle 
ston. 

The  influence  of  the  news  ran  through  the 
action  on  the  stage.  The  performance  took 
on  spirit  and  gusto.  The  audience  immediate 
ly  felt  the  glow  of  the  players'  enthusiasm, 
and  warmed  to  both  actress  and  playwright, 
and  the  curtain  went  down  to  the  most  vigor 
ous  applause  of  the  entire  run.  ButWester- 
velt  did  not  perceive  this,  so  engrossed  was  he 
in  the  new  manuscript.  Reading  was  pro 
digious  labor  for  him — required  all  his  atten 
tion. 

He  was  at  the  hotel  early  the  next  morning, 

220 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

impatient  to  see  his  star.  As  he  waited  he 
figured  on  a  little  pad.  His  face  was  flushed 
as  if  with  drink.  His  eyes  swam  with  tears 
of  joy,  and  when  Helen  appeared  he  took 
her  hand  in  both  his  fat  pads,  crying  out: 

''My  dear  lady,  we  have  found  you  a  new 
play.  It  is  to  be  a  big  production.  It  will 
cost  a  barrel  of  money  to  put  it  on,  but  it  is  a 
winner.  Tell  the  writer  to  come  on  and  talk 
terms." 

Helen  remained  quite  cool.  "You  go  too 
fast,  Herr  Westervelt.  I  have  not  read  the 
piece.  I  may  not  like  the  title  role." 

The  manager  winced.  "You  will  like  it — 
you  must  like  it.  It  is  a  wonderful  part. 
The  costuming  is  magnificent  —  the  scenes 
superb." 

"Is  there  any  text?" 

Westervelt  did  not  feel  the  sarcasm.  "  Ex 
cellent  text.  It  is  not  Sardou — of  course  not — 
but  it  is  of  his  school,  and  very  well  done  in 
deed.  The  situations  are  not  new,  but  they 
are  powerfully  worked  out.  I  am  anxious 

221 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

to  secure  it.     If  not  for  you,  for  some  one 
else." 

"Very  well.  I  will  read  the  manuscript. 
If  I  like  it  I  will  send  for  the  author." 

With  this  show  of  tepid  interest  on  the  part 
of  his  star  Westervelt  had  to  be  content.  To 
Hugh  he  complained:  "The  influence  of  that 
crazy  Douglass  is  strong  with  her  yet.  I'm 
afraid  she  will  turn  down  this  part." 

Hugh  was  also  alarmed  by  her  indifference, 
and  at  frequent  intervals  during  the  day  asked 
how  she  was  getting  on  with  the  reading. 

To  this  query  she  each  time  replied :  "  Slow 
ly.  I'm  giving  it  careful  thought." 

She  was,  indeed,  struggling  with  her  tempted 
self.  She  was  more  deeply  curious  to  read 
the  manuscript  than  any  one  else  could  possi 
bly  be,  and  yet  she  feared  to  open  the  envelope 
which  contained  it.  She  did  not  wish  to  be  in 
any  sense  a  party  to  her  lover's  surrender. 
She  knew  that  he  must  have  written  falsely 
and  without  conviction  to  have  made  such 
a  profound  impression  on  Westervelt.  The 

222 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

very  fact  that  the  theme  was  Italian,  and  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  was  a  proof  of  his  abandon 
ment  of  a  cardinal  principle,  for  he  had  often 
told  her  how  he  hated  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
"  What  kind  of  a  national  drama  would  that 
be  which  dealt  entirely  with  French  or  Italian 
mediaeval  heroes?"  he  had  once  asked,  with 
vast  scorn. 

It  would  win  back  her  former  worshippers, 
she  felt  sure  of  that.  The  theatre  would  fill 
again  with  men  whose  palates  required  the 
highly  seasoned,  the  far-fetched.  The  critics 
would  rejoice  in  their  victory,  and  welcome 
Helen  Merival  to  her  rightful  place  with  added 
fervor.  The  bill-boards  would  glow  again 
with  magnificent  posters  of  Helen  Merival, 
as  Alessandra,  stooping  with  wild  eyes  and 
streaming  hair  over  her  slain  paramour  on 
the  marble  stairway,  a  dagger  in  her  hand. 
People  would  crowd  again  behind  the  scenes 
at  the  close  of  the  play.  The  magazines 
would  add  their  chorus  of  praise. 

And  over  against  this  stood  the  slim,  po- 
223 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

etic  figure  of  Enid,  so  white  of  soul,  so  sim 
ple,  so  elemental  of  appeal.  A  whole  world 
lay  between  the  two  parts.  All  that  each 
stood  for  was  diametrically  opposed  to  the 
other.  One  was  modern  as  the  telephone, 
true,  sound,  and  revealing.  The  other  false 
from  beginning  to  end,  belonging  to  a  world 
that  never  existed,  a  brilliant,  flashing  pageant, 
a  struggle  of  beasts  in  robes  of  gold  and  vel 
vet —  assassins  dancing  in  jewelled  garters. 
Every  scene,  every  motion  was  worn  with  use 
on  the  stage,  and  yet  her  own  romance,  her 
happiness,  seemed  to  depend  upon  her  capit 
ulation  as  well  as  his. 

"If  they  accept  Alessandra  he  will  come 
back  to  me  proudly — at  least  with  a  sense  of 
victory  over  his  ignoble  enemies.  If  I  re 
turn  it  he  will  know  I  am  right,  but  will  still 
be  left  so  deeply  in  my  debt  that  he  will 
never  come  to  see  me  again."  And  with  this 
thought  she  determined  upon  a  course  of  ac 
tion  which  led  at  least  to  a  meeting  and  to  a 
reconciliation  between  the  author  and  the 
224 


THE   LIGHT   OF  THE  STAR 

manager,  and  with  the  thought  of  seeing  him 
again  her  heart  grew  light. 

When  she  came  to  the  theatre  at  night  Wes 
ter  velt  was  waiting  at  the  door. 

"Well?"  he  asked,  anxiously.  "What  do 
you  think  of  it?" 

"I  have  sent  for  the  author,"  she  answer 
ed,  coldly.  "  He  will  meet  me  to-morrow  at 
eleven.  Come  to  the  hotel  and  I  will  intro 
duce  him  to  you." 

"Splendid!  splendid!"  exclaimed  the  man 
ager.  "You  found  it  suited  to  you !  A  great 
part,  eh?" 

"I  like  it  better  than  The  Baroness,"  she 
replied,  and  left  him  broad-faced  with  joy. 

"  She  is  coming  sensible  again,"  he  chuckled. 
"  Now  that  that  crank  is  out  of  the  way  we 
shall  see  her  as  she  was — triumphant." 

Again  the  audience  responded  to  every  line 
she  spoke,  and  as  she  played  something  re 
assuring  came  up  to  her  from  the  faces  below. 
The  house  was  perceptibly  less  empty,  but  the 
comfort  arose  from  something  more  intangible 
225 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

than  an  increase  of  filled  chairs.  *'  I  believe 
the  tide  has  turned,"  she  thought,  exultantly, 
but  dared  not  say  so  to  Hugh. 

That  night  she  sent  a  note  to  Douglass,  and 
the  words  of  her  message  filled  him  with  min 
gled  feelings  of  exultation  and  bitterness: 

' '  You  have  won !  Westervelt  and  Hugh  are 
crazy  to  meet  the  author  of  Alessandra.  They 
see  a  great  success  for  you,  for  me,  for  all 
of  us.  Westervelt  is  ready  to  pour  out  his 
money  to  stage  the  thing  gorgeously.  Come 
to-morrow  to  meet  them.  Come  proudly. 
You  will  find  them  both  ready  to  take  your 
hand — eager  to  acknowledge  that  they  have 
misjudged  you.  We  have  both  made  a  fight 
for  good  work  and  failed.  No  one  can  blame 
us  if  we  yield  to  necessity." 

The  thought  of  once  more  meeting  her,  of 
facing  her  managers  with  confident  gaze  on 
equal  terms,  made  Douglass  tremble  with  ex 
citement.  He  dressed  with  care,  attempting 
as  best  he  could  to  put  away  all  the  dust  and 
odors  of  his  miserable  tenement,  and  went 
226 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

forth  looking  much  like  the  old-time,  self- 
confident  youth  who  faced  down  the  clerk. 
His  mind  ran  over  every  word  in  Helen's  note 
a  dozen  times,  extracting  each  time  new  and 
hidden  meanings. 

"  If  it  is  the  great  success  they  think  it,  my 
fortune  is  made."  His  spirits  began  to  over 
leap  all  bounds.  "  It  will  enable  me  to  meet 
her  as  an  equal — not  in  worth,"  he  acknowl 
edged — "  she  is  so  much  finer  and  nobler  than 
any  man  that  ever  lived — but  I  will  at  least 
be  something  more  than  a  tramp  kennelled  in 
a  musty  hole."  His  mind  took  another  flight. 
"  I  can  go  home  with  pride  also.  Oh,  success 
is  a  sovereign  thing.  Think  of  Hugh  and  Wes 
ter  velt  waiting  to  welcome  me — and  Helen!" 

When  he  thought  of  her  his  confident  air 
failed  him,  his  face  flushed,  his  hands  felt 
numb.  She  shone  now  like  a  far-off  violet 
star.  She  had  recovered  her  aloofness,  her 
allurement  in  his  mind,  and  it  was  difficult  for 
him  to  realize  that  he  had  once  known  her 
intimately  and  that  he  had  treated  her  in- 
227 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

considerately.  "I  must  have  been  mad,"  he 
exclaimed.  It  seemed  months  since  he  had 
looked  into  her  face. 

The  clerk  he  dreaded  to  meet  was  off  duty, 
and  as  the  elevator  boy  knew  him  he  did  not 
approach  the  desk,  but  went  at  once  to  Helen's 
apartments. 

She  did  not  meet  him  at  the  door  as  he  had 
foolishly  expected.  Delia,  the  maid,  greeted 
him  with  a  smile,  and  led  him  back  to  the  re 
ception-room  and  left  him  alone. 

He  heard  Helen's  voice,  the  rustle  of  her 
dress,  and  then  she  stood  before  him.  As  he 
looked  into  her  face  and  read  love  and  pity  in 
her  eyes  he  lost  all  fear,  all  doubt,  and  caught 
her  hand  in  both  of  his,  unable  to  speak  a 
word  in  his  defence — unable  even  to  tell  her 
of  his  gratitude  and  love. 

She  recovered  herself  first,  and,  drawing 
back,  looked  at  him  searchingly.  "You  poor 
fellow,  you've  been  working  like  mad.  You 
are  ill!" 

"  No,  I  am  not  ill — only  tired.  I  have  had 
228 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

only  one  thought,  one  aim.  since  I  saw  you 
last,  that  was  to  write  something  to  restore 
you  to  your  old  place — " 

"  I  do  not  want  to  be  restored.  Now  listen, 
Lord  Douglass.  If  I  do  Alessandra,  it  is  be 
cause  we  both  need  the  money  and  the  pres 
tige  ;  but  I  do  not  despair,  and  you  must  not. 
Please  let  me  manage  this  whole  affair;  will 
you  ?' ' 

"I  am  your  slave.'' 

"  Don't  say  such  things.  I  don't  want  you 
to  be  humble.  I  want  you  to  be  as  brave, 
as  proud  as  before." 

She  said  this  in  such  a  tone  that  he  rose  to  it. 
His  face  reset  in  lines  of  resolution.  "I  will 
not  be  humble  with  any  other  human  being 
but  you.  I  worship  you." 

She  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  him  fix 
edly,  a  smile  of  pride  and  tender  dream  on  her 
lips,  then  said,  "  You  must  not  say  such  things 
to  me  —  not  now."  The  bell  rang.  "Here 
comes  your  new-found  admirers,"  she  ex 
claimed,  gleefully.  "Now,  you  sit  here,  a 
229 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

little  in  the  shadow,  and  I  will  bring  them 
in." 

Douglass  heard  Hugh  ask,  eagerly,  "Is  he 
here?" 

"Yes,  he  is  waiting  for  you."  A  moment 
later  she  re-entered,  followed  closely  by  Wes- 
tervelt.  "Herr  Westervelt,  let  me  introduce 
Mr.  George  Douglass,  author  of  Alessandra, 
Lillian's  Duty,  and  Enid's  Choice." 

For  an  instant  Westervelt' s  face  was  a  con 
fused,  lumpy  mass  of  amazement  and  resent 
ment;  then  he  capitulated,  quick  to  know  on 
which  side  his  bread  was  buttered,  and,  fling 
ing  out  a  fat  hand,  he  roared : 

"Very  good  joke.  Ha!  ha!  You  have 
fooled  me  completely.  Mr.  Douglass,  I  con 
gratulate  you.  You  have  now  given  Helen 
Merival  the  best  part  she  has  ever  had.  You 
found  we  were  right,  eh?" 

Douglass  remained  a  little  stiff.  "Yes,  for 
the  present  we'll  say  you  are  right;  but  the 
time  is  coming — 

Hugh  came  forward  with  less  of  enthusiasm, 
230 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

but  his  wall  of  reserve  was  melting.  "I'm 
mighty  glad  to  know  that  you  wrote  Alessan- 
dra,  Douglass.  It  is  worthy  of  Sardou,  and  it 
will  win  back  every  dollar  we've  lost  in  the 
other  plays." 

"  That's  what  I  wrote  it  for,"  said  Douglass, 
sombrely. 

Westervelt  had  no  further  scruples  —  no 
reservations.  ''Well,  now,  as  to  terms  and 
date  of  production.  Let's  get  to  business." 

Helen  interposed.  "  No  more  of  that  for  to 
day.  Mr.  Douglass  is  tired  and  needs  recrea 
tion.  Leave  business  till  to-morrow.  Come, 
let  us  go  to  mother ;  she  is  anxious  to  see  you 
— and  you  are  to  breakfast  with  us  in  the  good 
old  spirit." 

It  was  sweet  to  sit  with  them  again  on  the 
old  footing — to  be  released  from  his  load  of 
guilty  responsibility.  To  face  the  shining 
table,  the  dear  old  mother  —  and  Helen ! 
Something  indefinably  domestic  and  tender 
came  from  her  hesitating  speech  and  shone 
in  her  liquid,  beaming  eyes. 
231 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

The  room  swam  in  vivid  sunshine,  and 
seemed  thus  to  typify  the  toiler's  escape  from 
poverty  and  defeat. 

"  Don't  expect  me  to  talk,"  he  said,  slowly, 
strangely.  "I'm  too  dazed,  too  happy  to 
think  clearly.  I  can't  believe  it.  I  have 
lived  two  months  in  a  horrible  nightmare ;  but 
now  that  the  business  men,  the  practical  ones, 
say  you  are  to  be  saved  by  me,  I  must  believe 
it.  I  would  be  perfectly  happy  if  only  I  had 
won  the  success  on  my  own  lines  without  com 
promise." 

"Put  that  aside,"  she  commanded,  softly. 
"The  fuller  success  will  come.  We  have  that 
to  work  towards." 


XIX 

ELEN  insisted  that  her  play 
wright  should  go  back  to  the 
West  for  a  month's  rest. 

"I  do  not  need  rest,  I  need 
you,"  he   answered,  recklessly. 
"It  fills  me  with  content  merely  to  see  you." 
"Nevertheless,    you    must   go.     We    don't 
need  you  here.     And,  besides,  you  interfere 
with  my  plans." 

"Is  that  true?"  His  eyes  searched  deep 
as  he  questioned. 

"I  am  speaking  as  the  actress  to  the  play 
wright."  She  pointed  tragically  to  the  door. 
"Go!  Your  poor  old,  lonely  mother  awaits 
you." 

233 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

"There  are  six  in  the  family;  she's  my 
stepmother,  and  we  don't  get  on  smoothly." 

"Your  father  is  waiting  to  congratulate 
you." 

"  On  the  contrary.  He  thinks  actresses  and 
playwrights  akin  to  'popery." 

She  laughed.  "Well,  then,  go  on  my  ac 
count — on  your  account.  You  are  tired,  and 
so  am  I — " 

"That  is  why  I  should  remain,  to  relieve 
you,  to  help  you.  Or,  do  you  mean  you're 
tired  of  me?" 

"  I  won't  say  that;  but  I  must  not  see  you. 
I  must  not  see  any  one.  If  I  do  this  big 
part  right,  I  must  rest.  I  intend  to  sleep  a 
good  part  of  the  time.  I  have  sent  for  Henry 
Olquest,  and  I  intend  to  put  the  whole  of  the 
stage  end  of  this  play  in  his  hands.  Our 
ideals  are  not  concerned  in  this  Alessandra, 
you  remember." 

His  face  clouded.  "That  is  true.  I  wish 
it  were  otherwise.  But  can  you  get  Ol 
quest?" 

234 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

"  Yes ;  his  new  play  has  failed.  '  Too  good/ 
Westervelt  said." 

"Oh,  what  blasphemy!  To  think  Harry 
Olquest's  plays  are  rejected,  and  on  such 
grounds!  You  are  right — as  always.  I  will 

go." 

"Thank  you!" 

"  I  am  a  little  frazled,  I  admit,  and  a  breath 
of  mountain-air  will  do  me  good.  I  will  visit 
my  brother  Walt  in  Darien.  It's  hard  to  go. 
My  heart  begins  to  ache  already  with  prospec 
tive  hunger.  You  have  been  my  world,  my 
one  ambition  for  three  months — my  incessant 
care  and  thought." 

"  All  the  more  reason  why  you  should  forget 
me  and  things  dramatic  for  a  while.  There  is 
nothing  so  destructive  to  peace  and  tranquil 
lity  as  the  stage." 

"  Don't  I  know  that?  When  I  was  a  youth 
in  a  Western  village  I  became  in  some  way 
the  possessor  of  two  small  photographs  of 
Elsie  Melville.  She  was  my  ideal  till  I  saw 
her,  fifteen  years  later." 

16  235 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

Helen  laughed.  "Poor  Elsie,  she  took  on 
flesh  dreadfully  in  her  later  years." 

"  Nevertheless,  those  photographs  started 
me  on  the  road  to  the  stage.  I  used  to  fancy 
myself  as  Macbeth,  but  I  soon  got  switched 
into  the  belief  that  I  could  write  plays.  Now 
that  I  have  demonstrated  that" — his  tone  was 
a  little  bitter  again — "  I  think  I  would  better 
return  to  architecture." 

She  silenced  him.  "  All  that  we  will  discuss 
when  you  come  back  reinvigorated  from  the 
mountains."  She  turned  to  her  desk.  "I 
have  something  here  for  you.  Here  is  a  small 
check  from  Westervelt  on  account.  Don't 
hesitate  to  take  it.  He  was  glad  to  give  it." 

"  It  is  the  price  of  my  intellectual  honesty." 

"By  no  means!"  She  laughed,  but  her 
heart  sickened  with  a  sense  of  the  truth  of  his 
phrase.  "It's  only  a  very  small  part  pay 
ment.  You  can  at  least  know  that  the  bribe 
they  offer  is  large." 

"  Yes  " — he  looked  at  her  meaningly — "  the 
prize  was  too  great  for  my  poor  resolution. 
236 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

All  they  can  give  will  remain  part  payment. 
I  wonder  if  you  will  be  compassionate  enough 
to  complete  the  purchase — " 

"  That,  too,  is  in  the  future,"  she  answered, 
still  struggling  to  be  gayly  reassuring,  though 
she  knew,  perfectly  well,  that  she  was  face  to 
face  with  a  most  momentous  decision  and 
that  an  insistent,  determined  lover  was  about 
to  be  restored  to  confidence  and  pride.  "And 
now,  good-bye."  And  she  gave  him  her  hand 
in  positive  dismissal. 

He  took  the  hand  and  pressed  it  hard, 
then  turned  and  went  away  without  speaking. 

There  was  a  hint  of  spring  in  the  air  the 
afternoon  of  his  leaving.  The  wind  came 
from  the  southwest,  brisk  and  powerful.  In 
the  pale,  misty  blue  of  the  sky  a  fleet  of  small, 
white  clouds  swam,  like  ships  with  wide  and 
bellying  sails,  low  down  in  the  eastern  horizon, 
and  the  sight  of  them  somehow  made  it  harder 
for  Douglass  to  leave  the  city  of  his  adoption. 
He  was  powerfully  minded  to  turn  back,  to  re- 
237 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

main  on  the  ferry-boat  and  land  again  on  the 
towering  island  so  heavily  freighted  with  hu 
man  sorrows,  so  brilliant  with  human  joys, 
and  only  a  realization  that  his  presence  might 
trouble  and  distract  Helen  kept  him  to  his 
journey's  westward  course. 

As  he  looked  back  at  the  monstrous  hive  of 
men  the  wonder  of  Helen's  personality  came 
to  him.  That  she  alone,  and  unaided  (save 
by  her  own  inborn  genius  and  her  beauty), 
should  have  succeeded  in  becoming  distin 
guished,  even  regnant,  among  so  many  eager 
and  striving  souls,  overwhelmed  him  with 
love  and  admiration. 

He  wondered  how  he  could  have  assumed 
even  for  an  instant  the  tone  of  a  lover,  the 
gesture  of  a  master.  "  I,  a  poor,  restless,  pen 
niless  vagabond  on  the  face  of  the  earth — • 
I  presumed  to  complain  of  her!"  he  ex 
claimed,  and  shuddered  with  guilty  dis 
gust  at  thought  of  that  night  behind  the 
scenes. 

In  this  rnood  he  rode  out  into  the  West, 
238 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

which  was  bleak  with  winter  winds  and  piled 
high  with  snow.  He  paused  but  a  day  with 
his  father,  whom  he  found  busy  prolonging 
the  lives  of  the  old  people  with  whom  the  town 
was  filled.  It  was  always  a  shock  to  the  son, 
this  contrast  between  the  outward  peace  and 
well-seeming  of  his  native  town  and  the 
inner  mortality  and  swift  decay.  Even  in 
a  day's  visit  he  felt  the  grim  destroyer's 
presence,  palpable  as  the  shadow  of  a 
cloud. 

He  hastened  on  to  Darien,  that  curious 
mixture  of  Spanish-Mexican  indolence  and 
bustling  American  enterprise,  a  town  wherein 
his  brother  Walt  had  established  himself 
some  years  before. 

Walter  Douglass  was  shocked  by  the  change 
in  his  brother.  "  I  can't  understand  how 
fourteen  months  in  New  York  can  reduce  a 
lusty  youth  to  the  color  of  a  cabbage  and  the 
consistency  of  a  gelatine  pudding.  I  reckon 
you'd  better  key  yourself  down  to  my  pace 
for  a  while.  Look  at  me!" 
239 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

The  playwright  smiled.  "I  haven't  in 
dulged  myself  too  much.  You  can't  hit  a 
very  high  pace  on  twelve  dollars  a  week." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  There  are  cheap 
brands  of  whiskey ;  and  you  can  breathe  the 
bad  air  of  a  theatre  every  night  if  you  climb 
high  enough.  I  know  you've  been  too  stren 
uous  at  some  point.  Now,  what's  the  mean 
ing  of  it  all?" 

"I've  been  working  very  hard." 

"Shouldn't  do  it.  Look  at  me.  I  never 
work  and  never  worry.  I  play.  I  weigh  two 
hundred  pounds,  eat  well,  sleep  like  a  door 
knob,  make  about  three  thousand  dollars  a 
year,  and  educate  my  children.  I  don't  want 
to  seem  conceited,  but  my  way  of  life  appeals 
to  me  as  philosophic;  yours  is  too  wasteful. 
Come,  now,  you're  keeping  back  something. 
You  might  as  well  'fess  up.  What  were  you 
doing?" 

The  playwright  remained  on  his  guard. 
"Well,  as  I  wrote  you,  I  had  a  couple  of 
plays  accepted  and  helped  to  produce  them. 
240 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

There's  nothing  more  wearing  than  producing 
a  play.  The  anxiety  is  killing." 

"I  believe  you.  I  think  the  writing  of  one 
act  would  finish  me.  Yes,  I  can  see  that 
would  be  exciting  business;  but  what's  all  this 
about  your  engagement  to  some  big  actress?" 

This  brought  the  blood  to  the  younger  man's 
cheek,  but  he  was  studiedly  careless  in  reply. 
"  All  newspaper  talk.  Of  course,  in  rehearsing 
the  play,  I  saw  a  great  deal  of  Miss  Merival, 
but — that's  all.  She  is  one  of  the  most  suc 
cessful  and  brilliant  women  on  the  stage,  while 
I — well,  I  am  only  a  'writing  architect,'  earn 
ing  my  board  by  doing  a  little  dramatic  criti 
cism  now  and  then.  You  need  not  put  any 
other  two  things  together  to  know  how  foolish 
such  reports  are." 

Walt  seemed  satisfied.  ''Well,  my  advice 
is :  slow  down  to  Darien  time.  Eat  and  sleep, 
and  ride  a  bronco  to  make  you  eat  more 
and  sleep  harder,  and  in  two  weeks  you'll  be 
like  your  old-time  self." 

This  advice,  so  obviously  sound,  was  hard 
241 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

to  follow,  for  each  day  brought  a  letter  from 
Helen,  studiously  brief  and  very  sparing  of  any 
terms  of  affection — frank,  good  letters,  kindly 
but  no  more — and  young  Douglass  was  dis 
satisfied,  and  said  so.  He  spent  a  large  part 
of  each  morning  pouring  out  upon  paper  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  surging  within  him. 
He  told  her  of  the  town,  of  the  delicious,  crisp 
climate  —  like  October  in  the  East — of  the 
great  snow-peaks  to  the  West,  of  his  rides  far 
out  on  the  plain,  of  his  plans  for  the  coming 
year. 

"  I  dug  an  old  play  out  of  my  trunk  today  " 
(he  wrote,  towards  the  end  of  the  first  week). 
''It's  the  first  one  I  ever  attempted.  It  is 
very  boyish.  I  had  no  problems  in  my  mind 
then,  but  it  is  worth  while.  I  am  going  to  re 
write  it  and  send  it  on  to  you,  for  I  can't  be 
idle.  I  believe  you'll  like  it.  It  is  a  love 
drama  pure  and  simple." 

To  this  she  replied:  "I  am  interested  in 
what  you  say  of  your  first  play,  but  don't 
work — rest  and  enjoy  your  vacation." 
242 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

A  few  days  later  he  wrote,  in  exultation: 
"I  got  a  grip  on  the  play  yesterday  and  re 
wrote  two  whole  acts.  I  think  I've  put  some 
of  the  glory  of  this  land  and  sky  into  it — I 
mean  the  exultation  of  health  and  youth.  I 
am  putting  you  into  it,  too — I  mean  the  adora 
tion  I  feel  for  you,  my  queen! 

"  Do  you  know,  all  the  old  wonder  of  you  is 
coming  back  to  me.  When  I  think  of  you  as 
the  great  actress  my  nerves  are  shaken.  Is 
it  possible  that  the  mysterious  Helen  Meri- 
val  is  my  Helen?  I  am  mad  to  rush  back  to 
you  to  prove  it.  Isn't  it  presumptuous  of  me 
to  say,  *  My  Helen'  ?  But  at  this  distance  you 
cannot  reprove  me.  I  came  across  some 
pictures  of  you  in  a  magazine  to-day,  and  was 
thrilled  and  awed  by  them.  I  have  not  said 
anything  of  Helen  MacDavitt  to  my  people, 
but  of  the  good  and  great  actress  Helen  Meri- 
val  I  speak  copiously.  They  all  feel  very 
grateful  to  you  for  helping  me.  Father  thinks 
you  at  least  forty.  He  could  not  understand 
how  a  woman  under  thirty  could  rise  to  such 

243 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

eminence  as  you  have  attained.  Walt  also 
takes  it  for  granted  you  are  middle-aged. 
He  knows  how  long  the  various  'Maggies' 
and  *  Ethels '  and  '  Annies '  have  been  in  public 
life.  He  saw  something  in  a  paper  about  us 
the  other  day,  but  took  it  as  a  joke.  If  this 
fourth  play  of  mine  comes  ofl,  and  you  find  it 
worth  producing,  I  shall  be  happy.  It  might 
counteract  the  baleful  influence  of  Alessan- 
dra.  I  began  to  wonder  how  I  ever  did  such 
a  melodrama.  Is  it  as  bad  as  it  seems  to  me 
now?  .  .  . 

"  I  daren't  ask  how  Enid  is  doing.  It 
makes  me  turn  cold  to  think  of  the  money  you 
are  losing.  Wouldn't  it  pay  to  let  the  thea 
tre  go  'dark'  till  the  new  thing  is  ready?  .  .  . 

"I  am  amazed  at  my  temerity  with  you, 
serene  lady.  If  I  had  not  been  filled  with  the 
colossal  conceit  of  the  young  author,  I  never 
would  have  dared  to  approach —  What  I  did 
during  those  mad  weeks  (you  know  the  ones 
I  mean)  gives  me  such  shame  and  suffering  as 
I  have  never  known,  and  my  whole  life  is  now 

244 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

ordered  to  make  you  forget  that  side  of  my 
character.  I  ask  myself  now,  'What  would 
Helen  have  me  do?'  I  don't  say  this  humble 
mood  will  last.  If  Alessandra  should  make 
a  'barrel  of  money,'  I  am  capable  of  soaring 
to  such  heights  of  audacity  that  you  will  be 
startled." 

To  this  she  replied:  "I  am  not  working  at 
rehearsal  more  than  is  necessary.  Mr.  Ol- 
quest  is  a  jewel.  He  has  taken  the  whole 
burden  of  the  stage  direction  off  my  hands. 
I  lie  in  bed  till  noon  each  morning  and  go  for 
a  drive  each  pleasant  afternoon.  Our  spring 
weather  is  gone.  Winter  has  returned  upon  us 
again.  ...  I  miss  you  very  much.  For  all  the 
worry  you  gave  us,  we  found  entertainment 
in  you.  Don't  trouble  about  the  money  we 
are  losing.  Westervelt  is  putting  up  all  the 
cash  for  the  new  production  and  is  angelic 
of  manner — or  means  to  be.  I  prefer  him 
when  in  the  dumps.  He  attends  every  re 
hearsal  and  is  greatly  excited  over  my  part. 
He  now  thinks  you  great,  and  calls  you  'the 
245 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

American  Sardou.'.  . .  I  have  put  all  our  dismal 
hours  behind  me.  'All  this,  too,  shall  pass 
away.'.  . .  I  care  not  to  what  audacity  you  wing 
your  way,  if  only  you  come  back  to  us  your 
good,  sane,  undaunted  self  once  more." 

In  this  letter,  as  in  all  her  intercourse  with 
him,  there  was  restraint,  as  though  love  were 
being  counselled  by  prudence.  And  this  was, 
indeed,  the  case.  A  foreboding  of  all  that 
an  acknowledgment  of  a  man's  domination 
might  mean  to  her  troubled  Helen.  The  ques 
tion,  "  How  would  marriage  affect  my  plans," 
beset  her,  though  she  tried  to  thrust  it  away, 
to  retire  it  to  the  indefinite  future. 

Her  love  grew  steadily,  feeding  upon  his 
letters,  which  became  each  day  more  buoyant 
and  manly,  bringing  to  her  again  the  sense  of 
unbounded  ambition  and  sane  power  with 
which  his  presence  had  filled  her  at  their  first 
meeting. 

"You  are  not  of  the  city,"  she  wrote. 
"You  belong  to  the  country.  Think  how 
near  New  York  came  to  destroying  you. 
246 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

You  ought  not  to  come  back.  Why  don't 
you  settle  out  there  and  take  up  public  life?" 
His  answer  was  definite:  "You  need  not 
fear.  The  city  will  never  again  dominate  me. 
I  have  found  myself  —  through  you.  With 
you  to  inspire  me  I  cannot  fail.  Public  life! 
Do  you  mean  politics?  I  am  now  fit  for  only 
one  thing — to  write.  I  have  found  my  work. 
And  do  you  think  I  could  live  anywhere  with 
out  hope  of  seeing  you?  My  whole  life  is 
directed  towards  you — to  be  worthy  of  you, 
to  be  justified  in  asking  you  to  join  your  life 
to  mine.  These  are  my  ambitions,  my  auda 
cious  desires.  I  love  you,  and  you  must  know 
that  I  cannot  be  content  with  your  friendship 
— your  affection — which  I  know  I  have.  I 
want  your  love  in  return.  Not  now  —  not 
while  I  am  a  man  of  words  merely.  As  I  now 
feel  Ales sandra  is  a  little  thing  compared  with 
the  sacrifice  you  have  made  for  me.  I  have 
stripped  away  all  my  foolish  egotism,  and 
when  I  return  to  see  you  on  the  opening  night 
I  shall  rejoice  in  your  success  without  a  tinge 
247 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

of  bitterness.  It  isn't  as  if  the  melodrama 
were  degrading  in  its  appeal.  It  does  not 
represent  my  literary  ideals,  of  course,  but  it 
is  not  contemptible,  it  is  merely  conventional. 
My  mind  has  cleared  since  I  came  here.  I 
see  myself  in  proper  relation  to  you  and  to  the 
'public.  I  see  now  that  with  the  large  theatre, 
with  the  long  '  run '  ideals,  a  play  must  be  very 
general  in  its  appeal,  and  with  such  conditions 
it  is  folly  for  us  to  quarrel.  We  must  have 
our  own  little  theatre  wherein  we  can  play  the 
subtler  phases  of  American  life — the  phases 
we  both  rejoice  in.  If  Alessandra  should  pay 
my  debt  to  you — you  see  how  my  mind 
comes  back  to  that  thought — we  will  use  it 
to  build  our  own  temple  of  art.  As  I  think 
of  you  there,  toiling  without  me,  I  am  wild 
with  desire  to  return  to  be  doing  something. 
I  am  ready  now  to  turn  my  hand  to  any 
humble  thing — to  direct  rehearsals,  to  design 
costumes,  anything,  only  to  be  near  you. 
One  word  from  you  and  I  will  come." 
To  this  she  replied:  "No;  on  the  contrary, 
248 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

you  must  stay  a  week  longer.  We  have  post 
poned  the  production  on  account  of  some  ex 
tra  scenic  effect  which  Hugh  wishes  to  perfect. 
They  profess  wonder  now  at  your  knowledge 
of  scenic  effect  as  well  as  your  eye  for  costume 
and  stage-setting.  Your  last  letter  disturbed 
me  greatly,  while  it  pleased  me.  I  liked  its 
tone  of  boyish  enthusiasm,  but  your  direct 
ness  of  speech  scared  me.  I'm  almost  afraid  to 
meet  you.  You  men  are  so  literal,  so  insist 
ent  in  your  demands.  A  woman  doesn't  know 
what  she  wants — sometimes;  she  doesn't  like 
to  be  brought  to  bay  so  roundly.  You  have 
put  so  much  at  stake  on  Alessandra  that 
I  am  a-tremble  with  fear  of  consequences. 
If  it  succeeds  you  will  be  insufferably  con 
ceited  and  assured;  if  it  fails  we  will  never 
see  you  again.  Truly  the  life  of  a  star  is  not 
all  glitter." 

This  letter  threw  him  into  a  panic.     He 

hastened  to  disclaim  any  wish  to  disturb  her. 

"If  you  will  forgive  me  this  time  I  will  not 

offend  again.     I  did  not  mean  to  press  for  an 

249 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

answer.  I  distinctly  said  that  at  present  I 
have  no  right  to  do  so.  I  daren't  do  so,  in 
fact.  I  send  you,  under  another  cover,  the 
youthful  play  which  I  call  The  Morning. 
Isn't  that  fanciful  enough?  It  means,  of 
course,  that  I  am  now  just  reaching  the  point 
in  my  life  where  the  man  of  thirty -odd  looks 
back  upon  the  boy  of  eighteen  with  a  wistful 
tenderness,  feeling  that  the  mystery  of  the 
world  has  in  some  sense  departed  with  the 
morning.  Of  a  certainty  this  idea  is  not  new, 
but  I  took  a  joy  in  writing  this  little  idyl,  and 
I  would  like  to  see  you  do  'the  wonderful 
lady  I  see  in  my  dreams/  Can  you  find  an 
actor  who  can  do  my  lad  of  'the  poetic 
fancy'?" 

She  replied  to  this : "  Your  play  made  me  cry, 
for  I,  too,  am  leaving  the  dewy  morning  be 
hind.  I  like  this  play ;  it  is  very  tender  and 
beautiful,  and  do  you  know  I  believe  it  would 
touch  more  hearts  than  your  gorgeous  melo 
drama.  Mr.  Howells  somewhere  beautifully 
says  that  when  he  is  most  intimate  in  the  dis- 
250 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

closures  of  his  own  feelings  he  finds  himself 
most  widely  responded  to — or  something  like 
that.  I  really  am  eager  to  do  this  play.  It 
has  increased  my  wonder  of  your  powers.  I 
really  begin  to  feel  that  I  know  only  part  of 
you.  First  Lillian's  Duty  taught  me  some 
of  your  stern  Scotch  morality.  Then  Enid's 
Choice  revealed  to  me  your  conception  of  the 
integrity  of  a  good  woman's  soul — that  noth 
ing  can  debase  it.  Alessandra  disclosed  your 
learning  and  your  imaginative  power.  Now 
here  I  feel  the  poet,  the  imaginative  boy. 
I  will  not  say  this  has  increased  my  faith  in 
you — it  has  added  to  my  knowledge  of  you. 
But  I  must  confess  to  you  it  has  made  it  very 
difficult  for  me  to  go  on  with  Alessandra. 
All  the  other  plays  are  in  line  of  a  national 
drama.  Alessandra  is  a  bitter  and  ironical 
concession.  The  Morning  makes  its  splen 
dor  almost  tawdry.  It  hurt  me  to  go  to  re 
hearsal  to-day.  Westervelt's  presence  was  a 
gloating  presence,  and  I  hated  him.  Hugh's 
report  of  the  exultant '  I  told  you  soV  of  the 
17  251 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

dramatic  critics  sickened  me — "  Her  letter 
ended  abruptly,  almost  at  this  point. 

His  reply  contained  these  words:  "  It  is  not 
singular  that  you  feel  irritated  by  Alessandra 
while  I  am  growing  resigned,  for  you  are  in 
daily  contact  with  the  sordid  business.  Tell 
me  I  may  come  back.  I  want  to  be  at  the 
opening.  I  know  you  will  secure  a  great  per 
sonal  triumph.  I  want  to  see  you  shining 
again  amid  a  shower  of  roses.  I  want  to  help 
take  your  horses  from  your  carriage,  and 
wheel  you  in  glory  through  the  streets  as  they 
used  to  do  in  olden  times  as  tribute  to  their 
great  favorites.  I  haven't  seen  a  New  York 
paper  since  I  came  West.  I  hope  you  have 
put  Enid  away.  What  is  the  use  wearing 
yourself  out  playing  a  disastrous  role  while 
forced  to  rehearse  a  new  one?  My  longing 
to  see  you  is  so  great  that  the  sight  of  your 
picture  on  my  desk  is  a  sweet  torture.  Write 
me  that  you  want  me,  dearest." 

She  replied,  very  simply:  "You  may  come. 
Our  opening  night  is  now  fixed  for  Monday 
252 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

next.     You  will  have  just  time  to  get  here. 
All  is  well." 

To  this  he  wired  reply:  "I  start  to-night. 
Arrive  on  Monday  at  Grand  Central.  Eleven- 
thirty." 

Helen  was  waiting  for  him  at  the  gate  of 
the  station  in  a  beautiful  spring  hat,  her  face 
abloom,  her  eyes  dancing,  and  the  sight  of  her 
robbed  him  of  all  caution.  Dropping  his 
valise,  he  rushed  towards  her,  intent  to  take 
her  in  his  arms. 

She  stopped  him  with  one  outstretched 
hand.  "How  well  you  look!"  Her  voice, 
so  rich,  so  vibrant,  moved  him  like  song. 

"And  you  —  you  are  the  embodiment  of 
spring."  Then,  in  a  low  voice,  close  to  her 
ear,  he  added:  "I  love  you!  I  love  you! 
How  beautiful  you  are!" 

"  Hush !"     She  lifted  a  finger  in  a  gesture  of 

warning.     "  You  must  not  say  such  things  to 

me — here."     With  the  addition  of  that  final 

word  her  face  grew  arch.     Then  in  a  louder 

253 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

tone:  "I  was  right,  was  I  not,  to  send  you 
away?" 

"I  am  a  new  being,"  he  answered,  "mor 
ally  and  physically.  But  tell  me,  what  is 
the  meaning  of  these  notices?  Have  you  put 
The  Morning  on  in  place  of  Alessandra?" 

Hugh  interposed.  "That's  what  she's 
done,"  and  offered  his  hand  with  unexpected 
cordiality. 

"  You  take  my  breath  away,"  said  Douglass. 
"I  can't  follow  your  reckless  campaigns." 

"We'll  explain.     We're  not  as  reckless  as 


They  began  to  move  towards  the  street, 
Hugh  leading  the  way  with  the  playwright's 
bag. 

Helen  laughed  at  her  lover's  perplexity  and 
dismay .  ' '  You  look  bef oozled . ' ' 

"  I  am.  I  can't  understand.  After  all  that 
work  and  expense — after  all  my  toilsome 
grind — my  sacrifice  of  principles." 

She  was  close  to  his  shoulder  as  she  said, 
looking  up  at  him  with  beaming,  tender  eyes : 
254 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

"That's  just  it.  I  couldn't  accept  your 
offering.  After  The  Morning  came  in,  my 
soul  revolted.  I  ordered  the  Alessandra 
manuscript  brought  in.  Do  you  know  what  I 
did  with  it?" 

"  Rewrote  it,  I  hope." 

Her  face  expressed  daring,  humor,  triumph, 
but  the  hand  lifted  to  the  chin  expressed  a 
little  apprehension  as  she  replied:  " Rewrote 
it?  No,  I  didn't  think  of  that.  /  burned  it" 

He  stopped,  unconscious  of  the  streaming 
crowds.  "Burned  it!  I  can't  believe  you. 
My  greatest  work — 

"It  is  gone."  The  smile  died  out  of  her 
eyes,  her  face  became  very  grave  and  very 
sweet.  "I  couldn't  bear  to  have  you  bow 
your  head  to  please  a  public  not  worthy  of 
you.  The  play  was  un-American,  and  should 
not  have  been  written  by  you." 

He  was  dazed  by  the  enormous  consequences 
of  this  action,  and  his  mind  flashed  from  point 
to  point  before  he  answered,  in  a  single  word: 
"Westervelt." 

255 


THE    LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

Thereat  they  both  laughed,  and  she  ex 
plained.  "It  was  dreadful.  He  raged,  he 
shook  the  whole  block  as  he  trotted  to  and  fro 
tearing  his  hair.  I  think  he  wished  to  tear 
my  hair.  He  really  resembled  the  elder 
Salvini  as  Othello — you  know  the  scene  I 
mean.  I  gave  him  a  check  to  compensate 
him.  He  tore  it  up  and  blew  it  into  the  air 
with  a  curse.  Oh,  it  was  beautiful  comedy. 
I  told  him  our  interview  would  make  a  hit  as 
a  'turn'  on  the  vaudeville  stage.  Nothing 
could  calm  him.  I  was  firm,  and  Alessandra 
was  in  ashes." 

They  moved  on  out  upon  the  walk  and  into 
the  hideous  clamor  of  Forty-second  Street,  his 
mind  still  busy  with  the  significance  of  her 
news.  Henry  Olquest  in  an  auto  sat  waiting 
for  them.  After  a  quick  hand -shake  Douglass 
lifted  Helen  to  her  place,  followed  her  v^ith  a 
leap,  and  they  were  off  on  a  ride  which  rep 
resented  to  him  more  than  an  association 
with  success — it  seemed  a  triumphal  progress. 
Something  in  Helen's  eyes  exalted  him,  filled 
256 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

his  throat  with  an  emotion  nigh  to  tears. 
His  eyes  were  indeed  smarting  as  she  turned 
to  say:  "You  are  just  in  time  for  dress  re 
hearsal.  Do  you  want  to  see  it?" 

"No,  I  leave  it  all  to  you.  I  want  to  be 
the  author  if  I  can.  I  want  to  get  the 
thrill." 

"  I  think  you  will  like  our  production.  Mr. 
Olquest  has  done  marvels  with  it.  You'll 
enjoy  it ;  I  know  you  will.  It  will  restore  your 
lost  youth  to  you." 

"I  hope  it  will  restore  some  of  your  lost 
dollars.  I  saw  by  the  papers  that  you  were 
still  struggling  with  Enid.  I  shudder  to  think 
what  that  means.  The  other  poor  little  play 
will  never  be  able  to  lift  that  huge  debt." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  about  that,"  she  gayly 
answered.  "The  rehearsals  have  almost  re 
signed" — she  pointed  at  Hugh's  back — "him 
to  the  change." 

' '  I  confess  I  was  surprised  by  his  cordial 
greeting." 

"Oh,  he's  quite  shifted  his  point  of  view. 
257 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

He  thinks  The  Morning  may  'catch  'em'  on 
other  grounds." 

"And  you — you  are  radiant.  I  expected 
to  find  you  worn  out.  You  dazzle  me." 

"You  mustn't  look  at  me  then.  Look  at 
the  avenue.  Isn't  it  fine  this  morning?" 

He  took  her  hint.  "It  is  glorious.  I  feel 
that  I  am  again  at  the  centre  of  things. 
After  all,  this  is  our  one  great  city,  the  only 
place  where  life  is  diverse  enough  to  give  the 
dramatist  his  material.  I  begin  to  under 
stand  the  attitude  of  actors  when  they  land 
from  the  ferry-boat,  draw  a  long  breath,  and 
say,  'Thank  God,  I'm  in  New  York  again." 

"It's  the  only  city  in  America  where  an 
artist  can  be  judged  by  his  peers.  I  suppose 
that  is  one  reason  why  we  love  it." 

"Yes,  it's  worth  conquering,  and  I'll  make 
my  mark  upon  it  yet,"  and  his  tone  was  a  note 
of  self-mastery  as  well  as  of  resolution.  "It 
is  a  city  set  on  a  hill.  To  take  it  brings  great 
glory  and  lasting  honor." 

She  smiled  up  at  him  again,  a  proud  light 

258 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

in  her  eyes.  "  Now  you  are  your  good,  rugged 
self,  the  man  who  'hypnotized'  me  into  tak 
ing  Lillian's  Duty.  You'll  need  all  your  cour 
age;  the  critics  are  to  be  out  in  force." 

"  I  do  not  fear  them,"  he  answered,  as  they 
whirled  into  the  plaza  and  up  to  the  side  en 
trance  of  the  hotel. 

1  *  I've  engaged  a  room  for  you  here,  Doug 
lass,"  said  Hugh,  and  the  new  note  of  almost 
comradeship  struck  the  playwright  with  won 
der.  He  was  a  little  sceptical  of  it. 

"  Very  well,"  he  answered.  "  I  am  reckless. 
I  will  stay  one  day." 

"Mother  will  be  waiting  to  see  you,"  said 
Helen,  as  they  entered  the  hall.  "  She  is  your 
stanch  supporter." 

"  She  is  a  dear  mother.  I  wish  she  were 
my  own." 

Each  word  he  uttered  now  carried  a  hidden 
meaning,  and  some  inner  relenting,  some  sweet, 
secret  concession  which  he  dimly  felt  but  dared 
not  presume  upon,  gave  her  a  girlish  charm 
which  she  had  never  before  worn  in  his  eyes. 
259 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

They  took  lunch  together,  seated  at  the 
same  table  in  the  same  way,  and  yet  not  in 
the  same  spirit.  He  was  less  self-centred,  less 
insistent.  His  winter  of  proved  inefficiency, 
his  sense  of  indebtedness  to  her,  his  all-con 
trolling  love  for  her  gave  him  a  new  appeal. 
He  was  at  once  tender  and  humorous  as  he 
referred  again  to  Alessandra. 

"Well,  now  that  my  chief  work  of  art  is 
destroyed,  I  must  begin  again  at  the  bottom. 
I  have  definitely  given  up  all  idea  of  follow 
ing  my  profession.  I  am  going  to  do  specials 
for  one  of  the  weeklies.  Anderson  has  inter 
ceded  for  me.  I  am  to  enter  the  ranks  of 
the  enemy.  I  am  not  sure  but  I  ought  to 
do  a  criticism  of  my  own  play  to-morrow 
night." 

She  was  thinking  of  other  things.  "Tell 
me  of  your  people.  Did  you  talk  of  me  to 
them?  What  did  they  say  of  me?" 

uThey  all  think  of  you  as  a  kind,  middle- 
aged  lady,  who  has  been  very  good  to  a  poor 
country  boy." 

260 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

She  laughed.  "How  funny!  Why  should 
they  think  me  so  old?" 

"They  can't  conceive  how  a  mere  girl  can 
be  so  rich  and  powerful.  How  could  they 
realize  the  reckless  outpouring  of  gold  which 
flows  from  those  who  seek  pleasure  to  those 
who  give  it." 

She  grew  instantly  graver.  "They  would 
despise  me  if  they  knew.  I  don't  like  being  a 
mere  toy  of  the  public — a  pleasure-giver  and 
nothing  else.  Of  course  there  are  different 
ways  of  pleasing.  That  is  why  I  couldn't 
do  Ales sandra.  Tell  me  of  your  brother.  I 
liked  what  you  wrote  of  him.  He  is  our  direct 
opposite,  isn't  he?  Does  he  talk  as  well  as 
you  reported,  or  were  you  polishing  him  a 
little?" 

"  No,  Walt  has  a  remarkable  taste  in  words. 
He  has  always  been  the  literary  member  of 
our  family,  but  is  too  lazy  to  write.  He  is 
content  to  grow  fat  in  his  little  round  of 
daily  duties." 

"  I  wonder  if  we  haven't  lost  something 
261 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

by  becoming  enslaved  to  the  great  city! 
Our  pleasures  are  more  intense,  but  they  do 
wear  us  out.  Think  of  you  and  me  to-morrow 
night — our  anxiety  fairly  cancelling  our  pleas 
ure — and  then  think  of  your  brother  going 
leisurely  home  to  his  wife,  his  babies,  and  his 
books.  I  don't  know — sometimes  when  I 
think  of  growing  old  in  a  flat  or  a  hotel  I  am 
appalled.  I  hate  to  keep  mother  here.  Some 
times  I  think  of  giving  it  all  up  for  a  year  or 
two  and  going  back  to  the  country,  just  to  see 
how  it  would  affect  me.  I  don't  want  to  get 
artificial  and  slangy  with  no  interests  but  the 
stage,  like  so  many  good  actresses  I  know. 
It's  such  a  horribly  egotistic  business — 

"There  are  others,"  he  said. 

"  Writers  are  bad  enough,  but  actors  and 
opera  -  singers  are  infinitely  worse.  Mother 
has  helped  me."  She  put  her  soft  palm  on  her 
mother's  wrinkled  hand.  "  Nothing  can  spoil 
mother;  nothing  can  take  away  the  home  at 
mosphere — not  even  the  hotel.  Well,  now  I 
must  go  to  our  final  rehearsal.  I  will  not  see 
262 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

you  again  till  the  close  of  the  second  act.  You 
must  be  in  your  place  to-night,"  she  said,  with 
tender  warning.  "I  want  to  see  your  face 
whenever  I  look  for  it." 

"I  am  done  with  running  away,"  he  an 
swered,  as  he  slowly  released  her  hand.     "  I 
shall  pray  for  your  success — not  my  own." 
"Fortunately  my  success  is  yours." 
"In  the  deepest  sense  that  is  true,"  he  an 
swered. 


XX 


[S  Douglass  entered  the  theatre 
that  night  Westervelt  met  him 
with  beaming  smile.  "I  am 
glad  to  see  you  looking  so 
well,  Mr.  Douglass."  He  nod 
ded  and  winked.  "You  are  all  right  now, 
my  boy.  You  have  them  coming.  I  was  all 
wrong." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 
"Didn't  she  tell  you?" 
"You  mean  about  the  advance  sale? — no." 
Westervelt  grew  cautious.   "  Oh — well,  then, 
I  will  be  quiet.     She  wants  to  tell  you.     She 
will  do  so." 

"Advance  sale  must  be  good,"  thought  the 
264 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

playwright,  as  he  walked  on  into  the  audito 
rium.  The  ushers  smiled,  and  the  old  gate 
keeper  greeted  him  shortly. 

"Ye've  won  out,  Mr.  Douglass." 
"Can  it  be  that  this  play  is  to  mark  the 
returning  tide  of  Helen's  popularity?"  he 
asked  himself,  and  a  tremor  of  excitement  ran 
over  him,  the  first  thrill  of  the  evening.  Up 
to  this  moment  he  had  a  curious  sense  of 
aloofness,  indifference,  as  if  the  play  were  not 
his  own  but  that  of  a  stranger.  He  began 
now  to  realize  that  this  was  his  third  attempt 
to  win  the  favor  of  the  public,  and  according 
to  an  old  boyish  superstition  should  be  suc 
cessful. 

Helen  had  invited  a  great  American  writer — 
a  gracious  and  inspiring  personality — to  oc 
cupy  her  box  to  meet  her  playwright,  and 
once  within  his  seat  Douglass  awaited  the 
coming  of  the  great  man  with  impatience  and 
concern.  He  was  conscious  of  a  great  change 
in  himself  and  his  attitude  towards  Helen 
since  he  last  sat  waiting  for  the  curtain  to  rise. 
265 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

"  Nothing — not  even  the  dropping  of  an  act — 
could  rouse  in  me  the  slightest  resentment 
towards  her."  He  flushed  with  torturing 
shame  at  the  recollection  of  his  rage,  his  self 
ish,  demoniacal,  egotistic  fury  over  the  omis 
sion  of  his  pet  lines. 

"I  was  insane,"  he  muttered,  pressing  a 
hand  to  his  eyes  as  if  to  shut  out  the  memory 
of  Helen's  face  as  she  looked  that  night. 
11  And  she  forgave  me !  She  must  have  known 
I  was  demented."  And  her  sweetness,  her 
largeness  of  sympathy  again  overwhelmed 
him.  "Dare  I  ask  her  to  marry  me?"  He 
no  longer  troubled  himself  about  her  wealth 
nor  with  the  difference  between  them  as  to 
achievement,  but  he  comprehended  at  last 
that  her  superiority  lay  in  her  ability  to  for 
give,  in  her  power  to  inspire  love  and  confi 
dence,  in  her  tact,  her  consideration  for  others, 
her  wondrous  unselfishness. 

"What  does  the  public  know  of  her  real 
greatness?     Capable  of  imagining  the  most  di 
verse  types  of  feminine  character,  living  each 
266 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

night  on  the  stage  in  an  atmosphere  of  heart 
less  and  destructive  intrigue,  she  yet  retains  a 
divine  integrity,  an  inalienable  graciousness. 
Dare  I,  a  moody,  selfish  brute,  touch  the  hem 
of  her  garment?"  \ 

In  this  mood  he  watched  the  audience 
gather — a  smiling,  cheerful- voiced,  neighborly 
throng.  There  were  many  young  girls  among 
them,  and  their  graceful,  bared  heads  gave  to 
the  orchestra  chairs  a  brilliant  and  charming 
ly  intimate  effect.  The  roue,  the  puffed  and 
beefy  man  of  sensual  type,  was  absent.  The 
middle-aged,  bespangled,  gluttonous  woman 
was  absent.  The  faces  were  all  refined  and 
gracious — an  audience  selected  by  a  common 
interest  from  among  the  millions  who  dwell 
within  an  hour's  travel  of  the  theatre. 

Douglass  fancied  he  could  detect  in  these 
auditors  the  same  feeling  of  security,  of  satis 
faction,  of  comfort  with  which  they  were 
accustomed  to  sit  down  of  an  evening  with  a 
new  book  by  a  favorite  author. 

"If  I  could  but  win  a  place  like  that,"  he 
18  267 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

exclaimed  to  himself,  "I  would  be  satisfied. 
It  can  be  done  when  the  right  man  comes." 

A  dinner  engagement  delayed  the  eminent 
author,  but  he  came  in  as  the  curtain  was  ris 
ing,  and,  shaking  hands  cordially,  presented 
Mr.  Rufus  Brown,  a  visiting  London  critic. 

"Mr.  Brown  is  deeply  interested  in  your  at 
tempt  to  do  an  American  play,"  said  the  great 
novelist.  "I  hope — I  am  sure  he  will  wit 
ness  your  triumph  to-night."  Thereupon  they 
took  seats  with  flattering  promptness  in  order 
not  to  miss  a  word  of  the  play. 

Helen,  coming  on  a  moment  after,  was  given 
a  greeting  almost  frenziedly  cordial,  and  when 
she  bowed  her  eyes  sought  the  box  in  which 
her  lover  sat,  and  the  audience,  seeing  the 
distinguished  novelist  and  feeling  some  con 
nection  between  them,  renewed  their  applause. 
Douglass,  at  the  back  of  the  box,  rose  and  stood 
with  intent  to  express  to  Helen  the  admiration, 
the  love,  and  the  respect  which  he  felt  for  her. 
She  was,  indeed,  "the  beautiful,  golden -haired 
lady"  of  whom  he  had  written  as  a  boy,  and 
268 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE  STAR 

a  singular  timidity,  a  wave  of  worship  went 
over  him. 

He  became  the  imaginative  lad  of  the  play, 
who  stood  in  awe  and  worship  of  mature 
womanhood.  The  familiar  Helen  was  gone, 
the  glittering  woman  was  gone,  and  in  her 
place  stood  the  ideal  of  the  boy — the  author 
himself  had  returned  to  "  the  land  of  morning 
glow  "  —to  the  time  when  the  curl  of  a  wom 
an's  lip  was  greater  than  any  war.  The  boy 
on  the  stage  chanted : 

"  Where  I  shall  find  her  I  know  not. 
But  I  trust  in  the  future!     To  me 
She  will  come.     I  am  not  forgot. 
Out  in  the  great  world  she's  waiting, 
Perhaps  by  the  shore  of  the  sea, 
By    the    fabulous    sea,    where    the    white    sand 

gleams, 

I  shall  meet  her  and  know  her  and  claim  her. 
The  beautiful,  stately  lady  I  see  in  my  dreams." 

"  I  dare  not  claim  her,"  said  the  man,  hum 
bled  by  her  beauty.  "I  am  not  worthy  of 
her." 

269 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

The  applause  continued  to  rise  instant  and 
cordial  in  support  of  players  and  play.  Au 
ditors,  actors,  and  author  seemed  in  singularly 
harmonious  relation.  As  the  curtain  fell  cries 
of  approval  mingled  with  the  hand-clapping. 

The  novelist  reached  a  kindly  hand. 
"You've  found  your  public,  my  dear  fellow. 
These  people  are  here  after  an  intelligent  study 
of  your  other  plays.  This  is  a  gallant  be 
ginning.  Don't  you  think  so,  Brown?" 

"Very  interesting  attempt  to  dramatize 
those  boyish  fancies,"  the  English  critic  re 
plied.  "  But  I  don't  quite  see  how  you  can 
advance  on  these  idyllic  lines.  It's  pretty, 
but  is  it  drama?" 

"He  will  show  us,"  replied  the  novelist. 
"  I  have  great  faith  in  Mr.  Douglass.  He  is 
helping  to  found  an  American  drama.  You 
must  see  his  other  plays." 

Westervelt  came  to  the  box  wheezing  with 
excitement.  "My  boy,  you  are  made.  The 
critics  are  disarmed.  They  begin  to  sing  of 
you." 

270 


THE    LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

Douglass  remained  calm.  "  There  is  plenty 
of  time  for  them  to  turn  bitter,"  he  answered. 
"  I  am  most  sceptical  when  they  are  gracious." 

The  second  act  left  the  idyllic  ground,  and 
by  force  of  stern  contrast  held  the  audience 
enthralled.  The  boy  was  being  disillusioned. 
The  Morning  had  grown  gray.  Doubt  of 
his  ideal  beset  the  poet.  The  world's  forces 
began  to  benumb  and  appall  him.  His  ideal 
woman  passed  to  the  possession  of  another. 
He  lost  faith  in  himself.  The  cloud  deepened, 
the  sky,  overshadowed  as  by  tempest,  let  fall 
lightning  and  a  crash  of  thunder.  So  the  act 
closed. 

The  applause  was  unreservedly  cordial- 
no  one  failed  to  join  in  the  fine  roar — and  in 
the  midst  of  it  Douglass,  true  to  his  promise, 
hurried  back  to  the  scenes  to  find  Helen. 

She  met  him,  radiant  with  excitement. 
"  My  brave  boy !  You  have  won  your  victory. 
They  are  calling  for  you."  He  protested.  She 
insisted.  "No,  no.  It  is  you.  I've  been  out. 
Hear  them;  they  want  the  author.  Come!" 
271 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

Dazed  and  wordless,  weak  from  stage-fright, 
he  permitted  himself  to  be  led  forth  into  the 
terrifying  glare  of  the  footlight  world.  There 
his  guide  left  him,  abandoned  him,  pitifully 
exposed  to  a  thousand  eyes,  helpless  and 
awkward.  He  turned  to  flee,  to  follow  her, 
but  the  roguish  smile  on  her  face,  as  she  kissed 
her  fingers  towards  him,  somehow  roused  his 
pride  and  gave  him  courage  to  face  the  tumult. 
As  he  squared  himself  an  awesome  silence 
settled  over  the  house — a  silence  that  inspired 
as  well  as  appalled  by  its  expectancy. 

"Friends,  I  thank  you,"  the  pale  and 
resolute  author  weakly  began.  "I  didn't 
know  I  had  so  many  friends  in  the  world. 
Two  minutes  ago  I  was  so  scared  my  teeth 
chattered.  Now  I  am  entirely  at  my  ease — 
you  notice  that."  The  little  ripple  of  laugh 
ter  which  followed  this  remark  really  gave 
him  time  to  think — gave  him  courage.  ''I 
feel  that  I  am  at  last  face  to  face  with  an 
audience  that  knows  my  work — that  is  ready 
to  support  a  serious  attempt  at  play  writing. 
272 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

I  claim  that  a  play  may  do  something  more 
than  amuse — it  may  interest.  There  is  a  wide 
difference,  you  will  see.  To  be  an  amusement 
merely  is  to  degrade  our  stage  to  the  level  of  a 
Punch-and-Judy  show.  I  am  sorry  for  tired 
men  and  weary  women,  but  as  a  dramatist  I 
can't  afford  to  take  their  troubles  into  account. 
I  am  writing  for  those  who  are  mentally  alert 
and  willing  to  support  plays  that  have  at 
least  the  dignity  of  intention  which  lies  in  our 
best  novels.  This  does  not  mean  gloomy  plays 
or  problem  plays,  but  it  does  mean  conscien 
tious  study  of  American  life.  If  you  like  me 
as  well  after  the  close  of  the  play" — he  made 
dramatic  pause — "well  I  shall  not  be  able  to 
sleep  to-night.  I  sincerely  thank  you.  You 
have  given  me  a  fair  hearing — that  is  all  I  can 
ask — and  I  am  very  grateful." 

This  little  speech  seemed  to  please  his  au 
ditors,  but  his  real  reward  came  when  Helen 
met  him  at  the  wings  and  caught  his  arm  to 
her  side  in  an  ecstatic  little  hug.  "You  did 
beautifully !  You  make  me  afraid  of  you  when 
273 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

you  stand  tall  and  grand  like  that.  You  were 
scared  though.  I  could  see  that." 

"You  deserted  me,"  he  answered,  in  mock 
accusation.  "You  led  me  into  the  crackling 
musketry  and  ran  away." 

"I  wanted  to  see  of  what  metal  you  were 
made,"  she  answered,  and  fled  to  her  dressing- 
room  to  prepare  for  the  final  act. 

"Now  for  the  real  test,"  said  the  novelist, 
with  a  kindly  smile.  "I  think  we  could  all 
write  plays  if  it  were  not  for  the  difficulty  of 
ending  them." 

"  I  begin  to  tremble  for  my  climax,"  Doug 
lass  answered.  "It  is  so  important  to  leave 
a  sweet  and  sonorous  sound  in  the  ear  at  the 
last.  It  must  die  on  the  sense  like  the  sound 
of  a  bell." 

"  It's  a  remarkable  achievement,  do  you 
know,"  began  the  English  critic,  "to  carry  a 
parable  along  with  a  realistic  study  of  life. 
I  can't  really  see  how  you're  coming  out." 

"I  don't  know  myself,"  replied  Douglass. 

The  play  closed  quietly,  with  a  subjective 
274 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

climax  so  deep,  so  true  to  human  nature  that 
it  laid  hold  upon  every  heart.  The  applause 
was  slow  in  rising,  but  grew  in  power  till  it 
filled  the  theatre  like  some  great  anthem. 
No  one  rose,  no  one  was  putting  on  wraps. 
The  spell  lasted  till  the  curtain  rose  three 
times  on  the  final  picture. 

Douglass  could  not  speak  as  the  critic  shook 
his  hand.  It  was  so  much  more  affecting  than 
he  had  dared  to  hope.  To  sit  there  while  his 
ideals,  his  hopes,  his  best  thoughts,  his  finest 
conceptions  were  thus  gloriously  embodied 
was  the  greatest  pleasure  of  his  life.  All  his 
doubt  and  bitterness  was  lost  in  a  flood  of 
gratitude  to  Helen  and  to  the  kindly  audi 
ence. 

As  soon  as  he  could  decently  escape  he  hur 
ried  again  to  Helen.  The  stage  this  time  was 
crowded  with  people.  The  star  was  hid,  as  of 
old,  in  a  mob  of  her  admirers,  but  they  were 
of  finer  quality  than  ever  before.  The  grate 
ful  acknowledgment  of  these  good  people  was 
an  inspiration.  Every  one  smiled,  and  yet 

275 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

in   the   eyes   of   many   of   the   women   tears 
sparkled. 

Helen,  catching  sight  of  her  lover,  lifted  her 
hand  and  called  to  him,  and  though  he  shrank 
from  entering  the  throng  he  obeyed.  Those 
who  recognized  him  fell  back  with  a  sort  of 
awe  of  his  good-fortune.  Helen  reached  her 
hand,  saying,  huskily,  "I  am  tired — take  me 
away." 

He  took  her  arm  and  turned  to  the  people 
still  crowding  to  speak  to  her.  "  Friends,  Miss 
Merival  is  very  weary.  I  beg  you  to  excuse 
her.  It  has  been  a  very  hard  week  for  her." 

And  with  an  air  of  mastery  as  significant  as 
it  was  unconscious  he  led  her  to  her  room. 

Safely  inside  the  door  she  turned,  and  with 
a  finger  to  her  lips,  a  roguish  light  in  her  eyes, 
she  said:  "I  want  to  tell  you  something.  I 
can't  wait  any  longer.  Enid's  Choice  ran  to 
the  capacity  of  the  house  last  week." 

For  a  moment  he  did  not  realize  the  full 
significance  of  this.     "What!     Enid's  Choice? 
Why,  how  can  that  be?     I  thought— 
276 


THE   LIGHT  OF   THE   STAR 

"We  had  twelve  hundred  and  eighty  dol 
lars  at  the  Saturday  matinee  and  eleven  hun 
dred  at  night.  Of  course  part  of  this  was  due 
to  the  knowledge  that  it  was  the  last  day  of 
the  piece,  but  there  is  no  doubt  of  its  success." 

A  choking  came  to  his  throat,  his  eyes  grew 
dim.  "  I  can't  believe  it.  Such  success  is  im 
possible  to  me." 

1 '  It  is  true,  and  that  is  the  reason  I  was  able 
to  burn  Alessandra" 

"And  that  is  the  reason  Hugh  and  Wester- 
velt  were  so  cordial,  and  I  thought  it  was  all 
on  account  of  the  advance  sale  of  The  Morn 
ing!" 

"And  this  is  only  the  beginning.  I  intend 
to  play  all  your  plays  in  a  repertoire,  and 
you're  to  write  me  others  as  I  need  them. 
And  finally — and  this  I  hate  to  acknowledge— 
you  are  no  longer  in  my  debt." 

"That  I  know  is  not  true,"  he  said.  "Ev 
erything  I  am  to-night  I  owe  to  you." 

"The  resplendent  author  has  made  the 
wondrous  woman  very  proud  and  yet  very 
277 


THE   LIGHT  OF  THE   STAR 

humble  to-night,"  she  ended,  softly,  with  eye 
lashes  drooping. 

"  She  has  reared  a  giant  that  seeks  to  devour 
her."  He  caught  her  to  his  side.  "  Do  you 
know  what  all  this  means  to  you  and  to  me? 
It  means  that  we  are  to  be  something  more 
than  playwright  and  star.  It  means  that  I 
will  not  be  satisfied  till  your  life  and  mine  are 
one." 

She  put  him  away  in  such  wise  that  her 
gesture  of  dismissal  allured.  "You  must  go, 
dearest.  Our  friends  are  waiting,  and  I  must 
dress.  Some  time  I  will  tell  you  how  much— 
you  have  become  to  me — but  not  now!" 

He  turned  away  exultant,  for  her  eyes  had 
already  confessed  the  secret  which  her  lips 
still  shrank  from  uttering. 

THE    END 


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